Forging
by DraconicCat
Summary: Can a young Fire-starter deal with the repercussions of a traumatic childhood as she grows into adulthood? Will her forging strengthen her to face the trials to come, or will she shatter under the pressure?
1. Nightmares

_This is the beginning of my second story with my character Aidanna, in a writing/role-playing group called Valdemar's Intrigue (.com/group/valdemarsintrigue/), in a setting based on the Valdemar novels by Mercedes Lackey. It's a play by post group, so my chapters will in general be each separate post, unless that format disturbs the continuity a bit too much. These chapters have, for the most part, already been set in stone, so cannot be edited, but I do seek constructive criticism on them so I can improve my writing skills. I will include the name of the post and the post number to make it easier to peek in on the online group if you are so inclined._

_I will eventually post my original story with Aidanna, but because the timeline in the game was jumped ahead 7 years, it was never finished. I might finish it someday, but ... no promises ..._

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of Mercedes Lackey's characters, and do not gain any monetary profit from my Valdemar fanfic._

**~*~*~**

**Nightmares of highschool - post #8964**

When: 7 or so years since the last post involving Aidanna ;op

Where: Haven

Who: Aidanna (now 18 years old), Kregan (an npc to be filled in as needed, mwah hah hah)

*****

The young woman tosses and turns fitfully in her sleep, as the claws of a nightmare dig deep into her scarred psyche...

Smoke, choking and close, but underlying it the cloying stench of blood...

_*- Oh, gods, please, let someone find me -*_

_A voice, loathsome and dripping with evil... _

_*- No one will ever find you, sweetling, you belong to me now -*_

_Pain, all-encompassing, piercing and bone-crushing all at once... _

_*- Please, oh please, make it stop! -*_

_A pair of blood-red, glowing eyes, hovering above her... _

_Mad laughter, echoing and rebounding, growing louder and louder and louder –_

_*- Gods, just let me die! -*_

_Heat, growing, slowly at first, then more intense, searing, burning... _

_The flash of an obsidian blade..._

_She screams –_

- and wakes, coughing and spluttering and shivering, dripping wet. The stench of smoke follows her from sleep, but it brings the delightful odor of wet char with it. She shrieks, hops out of bed, and falls flat on her face, her legs tangled in the burnt remains of her bedding. She slowly sits up with a groan, scrubbing wet from her eyes, pushing her now-sopping hair out of her face, her body still shaking with reaction.

"Wot'n all th' blue bleedin' hells ye tryin' t'do t'me, filly?!? Burn me house down, and me wit' it?!?" The deep rumbling bass voice rolls over her like a rockslide, it's owner towering over her, an empty bucket clutched tightly in his hands. Hands really big enough to be paws. Bear paws.

She stares at his huge hands, uncomprehending, then covers her eyes with her hands, pressing the heels against them, as if to crush out the remnants of nightmare, still shaking. She draws a deep, ragged breath, coughs again, and finally looks up.

"S-sorry... must have been ... a nightmare ..." She frowns, looks about the small bedroom, then struggles to her knees, scrabbling through the clothing strewn about in last night's passion. A small moan signals that she's found what she's looking for. She holds up the item, a tiny fetish made of a rune-covered clay disc, strung on a thin leather cord with multi-colored beads. The clay disc is cracked, all the way through, and as she holds it, one half drops off the cord and hits the hardwood floor, crumbling into even tinier pieces.

"Oh, noooo...." She moans, louder this time, seeing months of work – hard, hard work – destroyed because of a moment of careless passion. She had worked so hard on that charm, so sure, so very sure that it would finally stop the nightmares. And it had! Three whole months of dreamless, uninterrupted sleep! She had been so proud of it; she had planned on showing it off to her new teachers, had even bragged about it to her friends –

*Oh, shit!* Suddenly she is a blur of motion, pulling on her pants and stuffing the broken charm in a random pocket.

"What time is it, Kregan?" Her voice is muffled as she struggles and wriggles into her shirt, tugging it over her head and shoving her arms through it ruthlessly, fiddling with the buttons for a moment before giving an exasperated grunt and throwing her Blues tunic on over it. His silence is enough of a response to give her pause. She stops, and looks at him, really looks this time.

He is still standing where he was when he doused her with the bucket of water, his six-foot-plus, well-muscled frame nearly as still as a statue, clothed only in the pair of breeches he must have hastily thrown on. He has a hard body, well honed and well used, a farmer's body, a mercenary's body. Darkly tanned, and covered with a lattice-work of scars – battle scars – almost as intricate as her own patterns of burn scars overlain with bizarre patterns from the ritualistic torture she endured as a child. His is the body of a protector, a soldier, a guardian. Someone who knows no fear, who's every movement is filled with confidence, grace, and power. There is something different in his stance now....

She looks up to meet his eyes, brown eyes set in a face as hard as his body, eyes that can freeze an opponent in his tracks with deadly malice, or that can melt a young woman's heart. Eyes that have never, ever shown fear, not once in the two years she's known him. Something foreign flickers in his eyes now, as he watches her intently.

She takes a step toward him, her hand raised to touch his chest.

"Kregan...?"

He flinches – flinches! – and shies from her touch, holding the bucket between them like a shield. A last, lonely drop of water trembles on the rim, before plummeting to the floor, mimicking the emotions swirling within her.

She stiffens and withdraws, feeling an old ache renew itself deep inside, and looks down, away. She lets her mussy hair fall as a curtain, hiding the tears that well up in her lavender eyes.

"Fine, whatever." She mumbles, grabbing her boots and belt, hopping-hobbling into them as she heads to the door, first the left foot, then the right. She buckles on her belt, sniffles and hides it with another cough.

"See you later?" She questions, over her shoulder. Still more silence. She hunches her shoulders then, and storms out, not looking back, and not seeing the bear-paw hand reach out to her, tentatively, and draw back again.

With speed born of desperation, and fueled by inner pain, she races through the streets of Haven, making it to the Collegium in record time. She careens into the classroom, hoping to zip into a seat before the teachers arrive, hoping hoping hoping she's not too late, and skids to a halt, momentarily taken aback at the scene of pupils and teachers (and grandmothers?!?) already gathered together. As they all turn to stare at her ungraceful intrusion, she blushes and nervously tucks a lock of her wild, unruly hair behind an ear (it pops back out, rebelliously, sticking out even further), and tugs at her rumpled tunic.

"Um... Hi! Um, I'm Aidanna Shidao, one of your new students? Uh.... sorry I'm late... " She sheepishly takes a seat, hunches down in it to make herself less conspicuous, and casts curious glances at the other students, and the three adults in the room.


	2. A Short Break

A Short Break - 8968

When: Late evening, after Aidanna's first magery class  
Where: Healer's Hall, Kregan's house - Haven  
Who: Aidanna, former Herald Owen, Kregan

*****

Aidanna heads home late, much later than she'd planned, ruminating on the full day as she walks...

She'd stayed late after class, partly to make up for arriving late, and partly because, despite her complete lack of any inborn magery talent at all, the subject matter was absolutely fascinating. Her head spun with all she'd learned just today. Much of what Kali and the other non-humans of her former household had already taught her matched the basic theories she'd learned today, but even with just a day of learning, it was obvious they'd barely scratched the surface of what there was to learn. The prospect of learning more, and from such creative and exotic teachers, was nearly enough to soothe the hurt from Kregan's reaction earlier in the morning.

She was so near to bursting with excitement, she practically skipped to the Healer Hall, stopping briefly at a fruit vendor to buy two clementines. The Healer Hall was where she spent at least a small portion of every day visiting the former Herald Owen. Owen, once a Herald, had survived the brutal death of his Companion, seven years ago, in the battle that ended Memnar the Blood-Adept's mad rampage through the countryside (and, not coincidentally, his threat to the then-child Aidanna). At least, Owen's body had survived. His mind, however, was another matter. After Memnar was well and truly dead, Owen had collapsed, but had not died, had not followed his Companion to the next world. He'd remained catatonic for nearly a year, housed and cared for in the Healer Hall, but some part of him still stubbornly clung to life, and he'd eventually regained consciousness. Some days, he was almost lucid. Almost. Most days, though, he was more than a few cards short of a full deck.

He didn't get many visitors, mostly just Heralds who'd known him and worked with him, and as the years passed, even they slowly stopped visiting very often, perhaps finding his in-between state of life and death too painful to observe for more than a few moments. He was a poignant reminder of all they stood to lose, each and every day.

Aidanna still visited him, not every day, but near enough. And she always brought him something. Some days, flowers or shiny trinkets she found in the street markets. Other days, edible treats, fruit or sweets. He was her second protector, had nearly died protecting her, his heart and soul had died protecting her, and she doted on him as much as she could. (Serende Swiftblade had been her first protecter, after her family had been slaughtered by Memnar. He had been cruelly assassinated shortly after delivering her to Haven for tutelage in her fire-starting abilities.)

She shared the clementines with him, peeling and segmenting them, feeding them to him one piece at a time, wiping the dribbles of juice that escaped with a napkin. On the good days, he could feed himself, but most times, he would simply forget to eat unless someone fed him, sitting or lying wherever the last Healer had set him, staring off into unseen realms, mumbling to himself in cryptic phrases like an oracle. After they finished the tart-sweet fruit together, she told him about her class, rambling on for nearly a candle-mark. When he started to nod off, she smiled gently, patted his hand, and left, waving at the nearby hovering Healer-apprentice to let him know Owen could be put to bed now. She didn't see the ex-herald suddenly jerk awake, and didn't hear him mutter another cryptic phrase.

"Snow in the summer! How pretty! You shouldn't have!"

*****

She reaches home, a small flat she's been sharing with Kregan, or rather, that he's been sharing with her, for the past several months. Ever since she left Iceheart's home, leaving nothing but bitter words and scorched emotions behind. She hesitates on the front stoop for a moment, her heart in her throat. The good parts of the day fade to the background, overshadowed by the potential for pain in her immediate future. She can't stand the memory of the fear in Kregan's eyes from this morning, the fear of her, as if she were some sort of monster. Like Memnar. She shudders and wraps her arms tightly about herself.

She turns around, looking up and down the darkened street, peering at the lamplighter as he makes his rounds, leaving pools of light strung out behind him like a trail of bloated fireflies. As he turns a corner, she turns back to the door, takes a deep breath, and enters.

The smells of home wash over her: lemon wood polish – astringent and sharp but refreshing; leather and steel – Kregan's arms and armor, always finely cared for; soap and sandlewood – warm and soothing; and chicken pot pies, their savory aroma permeating everything. Underlying it all, though, is the pervasive smell of ash, barely noticeable, but still there, just on the edge of the senses. She knows from experience that it will be days before that smell is gone, worn away and covered over with other more wholesome scents.

Kregan is sitting at the tiny table in the living space that doubles as their kitchen, a forkful of meaty chicken pot pie halfway to his mouth, his expression frozen. They stare at each other for moments that stretch into eons, and the silence fills up between them. She studies him, notes the new tension in his posture, the wary look in his beautiful brown eyes.

She swallows hard, a dry clicking noise, and eases her way into the room, treating him like a spooked horse, moving slowly but with purpose. She comes to the table, and sits at it, her heart beating hard as she holds his gaze. He still hasn't moved. A drip of gravy slowly congeals on the edge of the fork.

She coughs lightly to break the tension, and flinches as he jumps. She points at his fork.

"Are you... going to eat that? Or are you posing for a portrait?" She attempts humor, her voice trembling.

He coughs, sets his fork down, scrubs at his finely-trimmed-but-still-scrubbly-goatee, rubs the top of his head, mussing his short-cropped brown hair. He sits back in his chair, pushes the pot pie away. She notices there's only one, and her heart drops, a sick feeling starts in the pit of her stomach. He won't meet her eyes, suddenly finding interest in the fork he just set down, pressing on the handle to make the tines bounce up and down.

"Ye din't tell me yer was witchy." He says softly, his rumbling growl of a voice skirling through the room. He stops fiddling with the fork, crosses his arms over his broad chest.

It's her turn to freeze, now, at the subtle accusation in his voice. She shrinks a bit in her chair, and wraps her arms around herself again. She looks at the table, studies the grain of the wood, and lets her raven-wild hair fall like a curtain.

"It never came up." Her voice is small, barely a whisper. Her stomach is starting to ache.

He barks a short sharp laugh, keeps his arms crossed, gazes at the fireplace.

"I'm sorry – about the bedding... It was an accident. A-a nightmare... I'm a fire-starter, see, and – and most of the time, it's fine. I had a charm, I made it myself, to keep the nightmares away. But it broke. Last night. It's – it's under control –" She's nearly babbling now, trying desperately to make him understand.

"Is it?" He asks, and he leans forward, staring at her intently, this time using the face he shows on the battlefield. Cold. Hard. Cruel. "Is't really under control? Ye near burnt us t'cinders! All from a nightmare? Yer witchery ain't under control, filly, ye nearly got us killt!" He glowers at her, the anger rolling from him in waves.

"You're not dead!" Her voice rises in anger, her head snapping up, her hair flying back out of the way to reveal her lavender eyes flashing darkly. "You're not even singed! Nothing happened, but that we have to buy new bedding! Fine! I'll go get some tomorrow, after class." She glowers back at him, then shrugs, tosses her hair.

"And now you know. I'm a fire-starter. It is under control, dammit, last night was the first time in ages my shields haven't held. Big whoop. I can live with it. I have lived with it, for eight years."

She swallows again, takes a deep breath, grounding, slowly unwraps her arms, leans forward. Reaches across the table, tentatively.

"I – I love you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my Gift, but... I'm not a monster, Kregan, please, don't treat me like one..." She beseeches him with her eyes, her posture, touches his arm lightly.

He recoils from her as if she'd poked him with a firebrand, looks away, his eyes hooded now. He looks back, fear and sorrow plain on his face.

"I be needin' some time, filly –"

Her outreached hand clenches into a fist, knuckles turning white. She sits utterly still for a moment, unable to breath, the ache in her belly swelling to fill her whole being. On its heels, fury, white-hot and scorching, and though her shields snap into place, an automatic reflex pounded into her with years of training at the Collegium, small violet flamelets flicker incandescent around her before being snuffed out. She closes her eyes to the fear she sees on Kregan's face, stands, turns away. She is shaking, and sweat beads her forehead.

"Fine." She chokes out the word, barely able to breath. "Fine, take all the time you need!"

She storms out of their home for a second time in the same day, slamming the door as hard as she can, teeth clenched to hold back the whine of pain that sneaks out anyway. She starts walking down the street, unable to see through the tears that scald down her face.

She hears the door open, Kregan's heavy footsteps, following after her.

"Wait, filly, I dinnae -"

She can't bear to see him look at her like that again, so she runs. Runs like a raging inferno is at her heels, runs into the bowels of the city, quickly losing her pursuer in the twists and turns of the alleys and streets. Eventually, she slows, gasping, pressing the heel of her hand into her side against a stitch that stabs sharply.

She doubles over, hands clasped together tightly, pressing against her belly. She keens, softly, through gritted teeth. She crumples to the ground in slow motion, crouches there in the dark alley, buries her hands in her hair, soft sobs hitching her breath.

After a time, her crying eases, then stops. She pushes herself back to her feet, scrubbing her eyes, and staggers out of the alley. She casts about to gain her bearings, chooses her destination after a moment of thought, and then plods down the street slowly, ignoring the other passersby still out at this late hour.


	3. Drinking Away Sorrows

The next several chapters in this story are a collaborative effort with several other writers from the Valdemar's Intrigue group. For continuity, I'm including their work here in chronological order, with appropriate credits and linkies. :oD Also included are the post numbers, in case your curiosity gets the better of you and you decide to wander over to our group for further reading...

In this chapter, thanks go to Melitza - ( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ ) for permission to include her posties! She is mah hero!!! (Also, most of this particular chapter is actually hers because she' so damned awesome!)

On with the story!!!

Oh! Almost forgot the disclaimer: Valdemar and all related concepts are property of Mercedes Lackey, not me. I make no profit from the imaginings scribbled below.

*****

**Drinking away sorrows - 8969**

When: Late, late evening, after Aidanna storms out  
Where: Kregan's house, Kenthle's Tavern - Haven  
Who: Kregan  
Tags: Vasilis! (and anyone else!)

*****

"Gods be damned all to hell!" Kregan growls in frustration, and he hurls his half-eaten pot pie against the wall, where it explodes in a shower of peas, chicken and gravy, and bits of crockery. The fork follows in a deadly arc, and sticks, quivering, in the wall, pinning a piece of very dead pot pie before it can slide to the floor. He takes another swig from his jug of whiskey, but when it proves to be empty, the traitorous container swiftly follows the pot pie, shattering nicely, and adding to the growing pile of broken crockery on the floor.

He weaves in place for a moment, glaring at the broken bits, daring them to offer any more resistance, before huffing his breath out in a hiss, teeth clenched in a fierce grimace. Gods be damned skirts! How could the damned git be so bloody exasperating? He hadn't meant she had to leave!!! He just needed time, to get used to the idea that she was all witchy!

When Aidanna had stormed out of the flat, he'd chased after her, but she'd eluded him in the narrow twisting alleys, and he'd returned to their shared home in hopes that she'd come back after she cooled off. She still hadn't come back, and he'd gone through his entire stash of whiskey waiting.

He knew she had a temper, hell, he'd sometimes poke at her just to get a rise, but this was just not fair! She was the one who'd been untruthful, who'd concealed her weird powers for their entire relationship! Ah, gods, how in all the hells had he gotten involved in anything even resembling a serious relationship in the first place? What in all hells was he s'posed t'do?

Ah, t'hell with it! He stomps out of the apartment and lumbers down the street, the glower on his face more than enough to clear innocent bystanders out of his way, as he heads to a favored watering hole, a low-class rowdey house called Kenthle's Tavern. He slamms the door open, knocking over a patron who was foolish enough to be standing that close to the door, and steps over the hapless fellow, silencing the man's sniveling protests with a gentle boot to the midriff. A warning snarl at the two toughs who started forward stops them in their tracks, watching him uneasily, but they seem unwilling to interfere just yet. And he reaches the bar.

"Yer in me spot, boyo," He growls at another customer, before grabbing the man by the scruff of the neck and tossing him aside like a sack of dirty laundry. A familiar face gives him a momentary pause, before he settles his bulk on the barstool, signaling the bartender over.

"Oy, 'Silis, wha'cher drinkin' tonight?" He elbows the man, peers into his mug, gives a disgusted snort. "Gah, looks like dog piss!" Mumbles under his breath, "Gods-be-damned-skirts!" before draining the mug the bartender slides to him, slams it down, demands a refill. "Why in all th'hells they gotta be so friggin' complicated!"

*****

**Re: Drinking away sorrows – 8972**

**Melitza - ( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

It's close to dusk – the sun was already kissing the horizon, highlighting the skyline visible above the buildings around them in rich shades of violet and indigo. The lamp-lighter was just making his rounds, setting off the gently shadowed ambling masses in warm, flickering ambers.

He sees her hair first, honey-blonde locks rejecting the torchlight in lustrous shine. He freezes, her name trapped on his lips, his indecision holding him place while Sulien tenses beside him, scanning cautiously for her partner's perceived threat.

Maybe she felt his stare burning into her back. Or maybe (just maybe?) her heartstrings were still as connected to him as his were to her. `Please, oh gods – please –`

She stiffens for a moment, straightens from where she had been bending to survey some late-fall apples at a merchant stand – turns to face him. "'Silis…" His pet name comes too easily to her lips, and when he hears it, he crumbles. Anger, resentment, confusion – it all washes away as if it had never been in the first place, and so-help-him-gods, when she looks at him, he crumbles.

She hesitates – reaches tentatively towards him, but pauses as if she somehow knows the way his heart skips a beat – the way it twists and stops in his chest, the same as the breath in his throat.

`Touch me. Touch me. Oh gods, Gwen, please just touch me…' He wonders fleetingly if this is how a dog feels as it wags its teeth and dotes out love and affection, if only for a dismissive pat on the head. He needs that touch – needs it, as if without it there was no way to know whether she was really there. Whether _he_ was really there…

`Love me,' a broken voice somewhere deep inside him moans, and he clenches his teeth to keep the words from being spoken aloud.

It's as if she looks right into his soul, as she ever has. As if she knows that if she touches him, something will be reopened, un-severed, if only in his naïve, bitterly desperate heart. She draws her hand back to her chest, and every inch it moves from him is another inch that blade resting between them digs into his gut. `Don't leave me,' he had once wept – openly, honestly wept, bared his heart to her.

And she had left anyway. "Not even a handshake for an old lover?" he hears himself hiss, and agitatedly, his gaze strays to the left – to the right – up and down, anywhere but at her and those deceptively kind, doe-brown eyes. "Goddamn, Gwen, that's so sodding mature –"

"What happened to you?" she interrupts his tirade before he can say anything he will _really_ regret. He pretends he doesn't hear the genuine concern in her voice.

The words unduly agitate him, barraging at him like an accusation. He doesn't want the false pretenses. He doesn't want her to act as if she gives a whit, when if she did, she would have come back for-freaking-ever ago. "A whole sodding lot since you up and left," he hisses around the lump suddenly choking at his throat, making it hard to breathe. "But you wouldn't know a goddamn thing about any of that, because you didn't even bother –"

He thinks there is a flash of hurt in her eyes, but he ignores the answering twist in his gut. She interrupts again, and it hurts because it is so unlike her. "When you look around you… are you where you want to be?"

He refuses to reply (doesn't know how to reply), but when she answers the query herself, he realizes it was a rhetorical question. "I wasn't," she says – hesitates, when he doesn't move, finishes. "I couldn't be. Not with us."

`Not with you,' the real words are so distinctly clear they ring like a slap in the face. He recoils, but hides the wound with a snarl as he ever does. "Well I'm so frickin' happy for you. Hope everything is goddamn peaches and apples in the Gwen household!"

He slams his hand down at the last, sending several of the apples she had been looking at careening haphazardly off the booth to the market floor. It does nothing to cool the smoldering sting within him though, so petulantly, he stalks away.

--Guard Vasilis Shanley--

*****

**Re: Drinking away sorrows – 8973**

**Melitza - ( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

It had taken her only a few moments to catch up and realize what was really happening; but it was over just as quickly, and solemnly, the two women left behind stood watching Vasilis's hasty retreat. Sulien sighs; Gwen quietly tells the merchant she will pay for the apples knocked off the booth.

Sulien pauses in her amble when she pulls even with the honey-blonde teacher. Even without having seen the women before, she had recognized her almost instantly, slightly from Vasilis's vague descriptions – but mostly because of his sudden change in mood. From the corner of her eye, she can see that Gwen has also stopped, dutifully waiting for whatever words her ex-lovers companion had to offer.

Sulien's heart twists in her chest. `You aren't even going to defend yourself, are you?' The other woman understood that Vasilis was hurt, and she genuinely seemed to regret that. Even now, with one of his companions paused dangerously close to her, she made no motion to flee – no motion to defend herself. She simply waited, as if it was her responsibility to accept the angry words of those close to him now.

Even with dusk having fallen, it was amazing the penchant Haven marketplace had for bustling, laughs and shouts. The amiable bustle easily drowned them in its midst, and for a long moment, Sulien hesitated, torn between attacking this woman who had hurt her very dear shield-brother, and commending her for being the bigger person in this case.

She could have so easily just touched him – spoken a few soft words – and he would have been putty in her hands. If she had even a hint of the malice so innate in those busy-body noble ladies, or even the barest trace of the selfish, sugary romanticism of the young trainees – if she had had even the mildest inclination, she could break him, and they both knew it.

"'Ee'll be ok; jus' a wee bit'n too stubbern fer `is own good," Sulien finally compromises, and from her sidelong vigilance, easily sees the way the other woman's shoulders sag in relief.

"Ee's not over ye yet, so yer doin' the right thing," she says aloud. `Yer a good woman, Gwen,' she does not.

Sulien takes another step to follow Vasilis's path, but her feet plant in place once she is beyond the other woman. Once her gentle face is out of sight, it is easy to imagine she is a jackal like the rest of them, and the warning comes much easier. "But so help me gods, if you toy with him – if you hurt him again – I'll kill you."

She doesn't turn back to see the other woman's reaction, but in her minds eye, she hates that the women only nods as if to say, `Of course.'

`You really are a good woman,' she thinks with another sigh, and hates the woman for the circumstances.

--

She catches up to him easily enough, stopped and staring absently at the merchant's booth as he was. His gaze his empty though, and the vendor must have seen it, because he is using his wiles on another customer on the other side of booth, dutifully ignoring the blues in front of him. "I'm sorry I lost my cool there, Sulien," he apologizes quietly, though his heart isn't in it.

Sulien's heart twists, and awkwardly, she tries to slip into that same old song and dance people always did, when this happened. She throws a companionable arm around his neck and smiles hollowly. "Aw, shucks, `Silis – forget that bitch –"

"She's not a bitch," he says softly (far too softly), and the dullness of his tone hurts far worse than if he had just exploded at her. He speaks again, and the words are more for himself than for her, but she hears him anyway. "I honestly hoped she wouldn't be happy…'

`Without me,' the finish is easy enough to hear.

Vasilis's face is oddly devoid of emotion, but knowing him the way she does allows her a special glimpse into the melancholy. Genuinely uncomfortable, Sulien realized there was absolutely nothing she could do to magically `make everything ok'. There were no words she could offer that she hadn't already before – no coping methods –

Well… except maybe one.

Glimpsing a familiar worn sign from the corner of her eye, Sulien clasped at his shoulder and gave him a rough push off. "Eh, `Silis – I can patrol alone fer a bit, if ye wanna cool off."

"Kenthle's Tavern – that's one of yer haunts, isn't it?" He grunts rather than replies, and she shoves him again. "I'll come get ye if anythin' excitin' happens," she offers again.

She knows drinking isn't the best solution, but the hurt is so raw in him, so fresh, that she worries. She wants him to lay off – knows that he needs to lay off – but right now, there is nothing else she has to offer. `I'm sorry this is all I can do for you, Vasilis.'

He ambles away from her without even an argument, and she ignores the ice cold lump gnawing at her gut. "Things'll get better, `Silis. I promise," she calls after him.

"With time, right?" he sneers back, and she knows he is mocking himself more than her. Time has already passed, and here they were, spiraling around and around with no end in sight.

"I love ya," she calls again, and he doesn't even acknowledge it before letting the tavern door slam behind him.

--Guard Sulien Connor--

*****

**Re: Drinking away sorrows – 8974**

**Melitza - ( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

He was laying into his seventh drink when Kregan arrived.

He hiccupped and choked slightly when the elbow got him right in mid swallow. He spluttered and quickly wiped at the dribble on his chin. His first reaction, of course, was to turn swinging, but wincing inwardly, he realized that Sulien would be on him like an angry, hungry hawk if he actually _started_ a fight when he was _supposed_ to be on patrol.

Granted, she had encouraged him to come in here – but that wasn't an open-ended invitation to wreak havoc. Petulantly, Vasilis meant to use looks to kill –

And blinked in surprise. "Hey, Kregan, when did you get here!" he cheered, and inwardly winced at the teetered edge in his own voice. Ok. Maybe he had drunk a little too fast on an empty stomach; the room was already spinning, but only a little bit. He was buzzed, but if anyone knew their limits quite intimately, it was Vasilis.

Kregan made some cryptic comment or another about his drink, then made some comment that eluded Vasilis about skirts (what the hell?), and Vasilis blinked as his already mildly fuddled mind whirred to keep up. Suspiciously, he eyed the other man. "Did Sulien send you?"

`Oh. Wait. He doesn't know Sulien,' he realized after the words left his mouth. His mind was definitely a little slow tonight; he finally understood the derogative comment about women, and saw the irony that they seemed to both be here for the same reason. Belatedly, he smiled (though it never reached his eyes) and laughed (without mirth) the comment off.

"Ehh, to hell with `em, Kregan! To hell with it all! Cheap whiskey and blood on the floor, that's all I need!" he cheered, and downed the seventh drink and slammed it back onto the bar top, ignoring the dubious look of the patron. "One of whatever he's having… for him… and me… on me!" he commanded, and hoped maybe Kregan knew the right brew to make the ache in his chest fade away.

--Vasilis Shanley—


	4. A Little Bit of Gratuitous Violence

The next several chapters in this story are a collaborative effort with several other writers from the Valdemar's Intrigue group. For continuity, I'm including their work here in chronological order, with appropriate credits and linkies. :oD Also included are the post numbers, in case your curiosity gets the better of you and you decide to wander over to our group for further reading...

In this chapter, thanks go to Melitza - ( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ ) for permission to include her posties! She is still and will always be mah hero!!! Many many many thanks to her for helping to create the BEST BARFIGHT EVER!!! (And from a gamer of uber-years, trust me, that's saying something! Lol!) I was also told that this chapter has the best leering job ever. *evil grin*

On with the story!!!

Oh! Almost forgot the disclaimer: Valdemar and all related concepts are property of Mercedes Lackey, not me. I make no profit from the imaginings scribbled below.

*********

**A Little Bit of Gratuitous Violence - 8976**

**DraconicCat**

When: Late, late evening  
Where: Kenthle's Tavern - Haven  
Who: Kregan, Vasilis  
Tags: Vasilis! (and anyone else in need of relieving some frustrations in a time-honored tradition!)

*****

_--- Kregan made some cryptic comment or another about his drink, then made some comment that eluded Vasilis about skirts (what the hell?), and Vasilis blinked as his already mildly fuddled mind whirred to keep up. Suspiciously, he eyed the other man. "Did Sulien send you?"---_

"Who th' 'ell is Sulien? _That _who yer pinin' fer? Pah! Ye know me better'n that! I'm no messenger boy!" Kregan growls, giving Vasilis a shove, guffawing when the guard sloshes his drink. He downs the rest of his own drink, noting how the liquor tastes like water now, waves for another round.

_--- "Ehh, to hell with `em, Kregan! To hell with it all! Cheap whiskey and blood on the floor, that's all I need!" he cheered, and downed the seventh drink and slammed it back onto the bar top, ignoring the  
dubious look of the patron. "One of whatever he's having… for him… and me… on me!" he commanded, and hoped maybe Kregan knew the right brew to make the ache in his chest fade away.---_

He grins, clinks his mug against Vasilis', turns in his seat to face the room, leaning easily against the bar, another drink dangling carelessly in his hands. He inhales deeply, savoring the stink of the room: spilled liquor, smoke, sweat, other less pleasant but earthy odors.

"Aye, t'hell with 'em all! Cursed witches, ev'ry las' one of 'em!"

He scans the crowded room with a practiced, if slightly bleary eye, seeking a bit of fun. The room is filled with the laborers of the city, and the atmosphere buzzes with boisterous energy. Raucous laughter and coarse, bawdy lyrics ring off the walls. A few minor scuffles break out, but settle within moments, nothing more than shoving matches really. No fun there. Then something catches Kregan's eye, and he grins, a feral expression baring all his teeth.

"I dinnae think yer gonna need t'wait long on that wish o' yers, 'Silis!" Another elbow to jostle the other man, pull his attention from the dregs of his current cup.

The young man Kregan had ousted from the bar has returned. With friends. A blacksmith, by the looks of him, all brawny muscle up top, skinny chicken legs beneath. His friends, four other young men, follow the same pattern. He notes how they cluster together, instead of fanning out, tsks through his teeth to chide them.

"Oy, lookee here, the puppy's brought friends! Ye reckon 'e wants t'play?"

The young blacksmith's face darkens in anger, and he clenches his big, meaty hands, taking another step closer, trying to loom over Kregan. His friends crowd around him, jostling Vasilis, spilling his drink.

"Me friends and I, we're goan'ta teach ye some manners, oldtimer!"

Kregan throws back his head in uproarious laughter, the young toughs glaring and glowering, flexing their considerable thews and muscles menacingly.

"Wha'cher think, 'Silis? Should I let these li'l pups teach me some manners?" He has stopped laughing, and his grin is even more fierce than before, bringing the craggy planes of his face into a mask of snarls, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence - 8977**

**Melitza ****( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

Had he been a little more sober, Vasilis might have felt irked at the hard, insistent edge of an elbow that kept nudging its way into his side. His ribs were already a little sore from a fight earlier this week, so had he been more ahem, normally inclined, his first reaction would have undoubtedly been to swing. However, luckily (unluckily?) for the both of them, Vasilis was suddenly feeling very much overbalanced, and not a little bit too affectionate.

"Aya, aya, aya!" Vasilis jeered, "Witches!" he parroted, and would have winced at the over-bright, bleary expression residing in his eyes had he had even half of his normal brooding pride about him.

He didn't, of course; Gwen had seen to that.

He leaned into Kregan a little, wrapping a companionable arm around his neck while pumping his other fist into the air. "Witches `n' bitches!" he cheered again, as if saying it with more emphasis might make him believe it. Forgetting, of course, about the mug in the air-pumping hand, whose contents were sloshing carelessly all over the countertop.

It wasn't that Vasilis didn't notice the dark look from the barkeep. He simply chose to ignore it. He was paying for the drinks, what the hell did the other man care where they ended up? Their final destination would likely be in a gutter in some back alley anyway…

Belatedly, he realized that Kregan wasn't even paying attention to him or his cheering anymore, and that there were several rather intense looking men standing in a semi-circle behind him. Vasilis blinked owlishly as one of the younger men jabbed a finger into his face.

"What'd'ya just call me?" the man hissed, and Vasilis realized that his jeering had come a little late and apparently they thought he had been replying to Kregan.

Even with his mind slightly befuddled from the effects of alcohol, Vasilis knew that this was one of those defining moments. The group had been picking at Kregan for some reason or another, judging by the  
ex-merc's oozing confidence and crackling, ominous aura. Even if there were five of them to one of Kregan, judging by their green appearances (and by his personal knowledge of Kregan's prowess), it  
wouldn't be a tough fight. It would be a needless, senseless brawl – one that Vasilis could easily head off with just a few of the right words. That was his job as a guard, right? Especially when he was actually on duty.

And for gods sake, he was _in uniform_...

Meaningfully, Vasilis leaned forward, letting his stormy gray eyes catch the younger man's bright blue ones. Frowning in fierce seriousness, the guard drawled, "I just called you what you are." There was a long, awkward pause, and he leaned in a little closer and raised his voice, so there would be no questions as to what he was about to say.

Silently, Vasilis made his apologies. `Eh, sorry, Suli. Couldn't be helped.'

"A bitch."

He even let the kid get in the first swing, though it did little more than snap his head to the side. For a second, he saw stars, but that passed quickly as he reached to finger his tender jaw. "Well, that was only fair," Vasilis replied loudly, suddenly feeling very sober and very, very excited. "Ladies first and all."

Yeah, he let the other man take the first swing, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let him have the second. Vasilis Shanley wasn't that much of a gentleman, after all.

--Guard Vasilis Shanley--

OOC: He shifts gears from tipsy-silly to emo to pissy in 0 seconds flat… that's freakin' talent. Admittedly, Vasilis surprised me with his sense of humor here… *makes sparkly eyes at Vasilis* `Silis-kun, I'm only that much more in love with you now!

(Does everyone get the blatant inter-dimensional love triangle going on here? Vasilis loves Gwen, I love Vasilis, and um Gwen loves…………..um, me? LOL! Ok come on play along, people...)

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence – 8979**

**DraconicCat**

Dead silence reigns in the bar for all of two seconds as most of the patrons stare in drunken disbelief at the guard, no one quite believing what they just heard, and then all hell breaks loose. With an inarticulate howl of rage the young blacksmith lunges at Vasilis, swinging wildly. Kregan is abruptly too busy fending off two of the other young pups to see if the boy manages to land another blow, and he throws back his head in wild laughter. A seemingly light tap with his fist downs one like a felled ox, and he grabs the other in a breath-crushing headlock. A step forward and to the side, hapless victim still tucked securely in his arm, the young man's face turning a brilliant shade of red, and Kregan's fist lashes out again, smashing the fourth man's nose in a brilliant spray of blood.

The man staggers back, howling and clutching his ruined nose, is helped another step back by Kregan's boot in his chest, flies backward into a table, collapsing it into a pile of kindling. The men at the crushed table growl and howl their dismay – apparently they were in the midst of a very serious poker game, and are more than a little displeased at having it disrupted, and even worse, having their various winnings scattered to the floor – and leap up to join in the fray, some pummeling the fool that was thrown at them, some going after other patrons, and some leaping at Kregan and Vasilis.

Within moments, the violence spreads like wildfire, and the room becomes a heaving mass of bodies, fists, blood and spittle flying everywhere. The tavern wenches flee, some out the front door, some disappearing behind the bar with the bartender. The two tavern toughs wade through the masses, suddenly bearing cudgels that they appear to have more than a passing familiarity with, laying about them with practiced ease, swimming like sharks on a blood trail right to Kregan and Vasilis.

Kregan roars with fierce laughter, adjusts his grip on his sagging victim - the poor boy's face is turning purple now, he's barely struggling now – and he surges forward to meet the toughs.

A cold glint of bared steel off to the side, and abruptly the rules change. Kregan lashes out, catches the fifth friend of the blacksmith by the arm in a bone-crushing grip, and his grin becomes something terrifying as all drunken humor seeps out, to be replaced by cold battle fury. The blacksmith's friend, pale face, terror-stricken eyes, has lunged toward the two of them, a naked dagger clutched in his hand. Kregan releases the other man from the headlock, where he slumps to the floor, gasping, coughing, and grabs the knife-wielding man by the back of his head.

CA-RACK!!!

The sound of bone cracking is audible even over the din of battle, as Kregan slams the man's dagger-wielding arm against the bar. The dagger skitters across the bar, over, onto the floor on the other side, and the blacksmith's friend howls in true pain.

Kregan pulls the man close, snarls, "Ye doan' go changin' t'rules o'the game in midplay, pup, 'lessin' yer ready fer th'consequences!"

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence ****- 8982**

**Melitza ****( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

The night was just beginning to get crisp. Her breath was just beginning to puff in merry white clouds in front of her face when she heard it – the shouts and racket and general din that marked that somewhere in her district, a scuffle had broken out.

Just her luck; with a heaved sigh, Sulien launched herself in the direction of the disturbance.

--

In his drunken stupor, he didn't even recognize her until his fist was already on its merry way to collide with her face. And even though he _did_ recognize her before it connected, he knew it would take his  
liquor addled-brain a few extra seconds that he _did not have_ to process that information…

Thankfully, Sulien saw it coming first. Before he could even register her movements, his fist was suddenly in hers, leaving him to whine pathetically while she very slowly, very meaningfully, increased that vice-like grip of hers. She barely even glanced at him; she was scanning the room, eyes darting to and fro as she made her quick calculations.

"Ow, ow, ow!" he protested; Sulien shot a glare from the corner of her eye – paused – then shot another, far more heated one once she actually realized whose fist she was holding captive. Apparently, she had been looking for him. "Eh… fancy meeting you here – Suli?" He felt a drop of sweat inching its way down his temple.

His knuckles cracked, and it was all he could do to not drop to his knees. He felt the color drain from his face, but that had little-to-nothing to do with the pain radiating down his arm. "Sorry?" he tried again, and judging by the way her rust-brown eyes flared to perfect, utter livid glory, that was the wrong answer.

"Oh HELL no!" Sulien roared, and Vasilis didn't think he had ever seen her quite this angry. And most especially not at him. When she rounded on him, he could admit without even a hint of embarrassment  
that had it not been for her grip on his fist, he would have run for his dear life. "Fer GODS sake, `Silis! A drink, maybe two – ye gluttonous, wrathful pig!" Her hand was in his tunic now, shaking him by the scruff of the neck, and the motion was making him turn a little green in the face.

She dropped his fist, and her face flickered between disbelief and fury, with the latter swooping in for the epic win. "Oh, fer gods sake –" she started again, and he was so busy shrinking from her face that he lost track of her newly freed hand – until – "Sober UP!" She might have been a warhorse in another life – it certainly felt like a thick, powerful hoof, jamming its way up into his sternum, in _just_ the right spot –

She let him go then, and it was a good thing. His feet never really hit the floor again, but rather, he skipped that step in favor of going straight to his knees. The contents of his stomach reacquainted  
themselves with the outside world, thanks to her well-place gut-punch, and Vasilis at least had the sense of mind to feel embarrassed about retching pathetically on the already stained tavern floor.

"Feelin' better?" she sneered, clearly mocking him. A drunk came careening towards her from behind, but she dropped him with a well-placed elbow without even a backwards glance.

Wisely, Vasilis decided it wasn't the time to complain that his stomach hurt. A lot. "Much."

"Then get the hell up a'fore I decide to gut-punch ya in yer balls, ya brainless dolt. Do yer job!" She made a mock kick at him that probably (keyword being probably) wouldn't have connected anyway, but  
the point was well made and Vasilis scrambled hastily to his feet, making sure to keep a wide berth between her and him just in case she changed her mind about the second-gut-punch thing.

"Yes'm," he sidled uneasily to the side, with all the crushed pride of a child whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar.

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence ****- 8983**

**Melitza ****( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

Kregan drops the man with the now-broken arm, his point well-made, and turns to wade back into the fray, his blood up and enjoying himself immensely, craggy face lit with a fearsome grin. The two tavern toughs have finally reached him, cudgels swinging, and he's busy for a bit, dodging some of their stinging blows, but absorbing most of them with his sheer bulk. They seem to know what they're doing, and work well as a team, their faces all grim seriousness as they flank him, intent on removing him as a source of disruption. When they realize simply beating him into submission isn't going to work – in fact, most of their blows only seem to incite him further - they start targeting more vulnerable areas.

After the third ear-ringing blow to his head, Kregan tires of toying with them, and with a snarl grabs them each by their cudgel-wielding hands, slams them bodily together, and tosses them in the general direction he last saw Vasilis. Hearing Vasilis' startled "Oof!", and the subsequent retching, he spins about, a bit alarmed that his friend might be having some trouble in a bar brawl (maybe he shouldn't have ordered those last couple rounds of fire brandy?), weaves in place a bit, the room spinning, his eyes scanning the chaos for Vasilis.

He pauses momentarily, and watches in admiration as the newly arrived Guard begins laying about her with practiced ease, each movement precise and calculated. He studies her, through bleary eyes, watches how Vasilis seems to cringe from her, and grins. *Oy, Kregan, yer an idiot – poke at a beehive, why don'cha?*

"Oy, skirt! Catch!" He plucks a hapless drunkard off his back (he'd been standing still too long, apparently, and several men were trying their damned hardest to pull him down), shakes the man to rattle him a bit, gives him a hard shove, propelling him toward the female Guard at high speed. When she turns to see where that one came from, he leers at her and waggles his eyebrows, then pulls another off, and does the same thing, watching to see the woman's reaction.

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence - 8990**

**Melitza ****( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

When she was a little girl, she had once traveled to town with her father when a belligerent drunk had come stumbling from a tavern of ill-refute. The man had leered openly at her (plain looking, broad  
shouldered little girl though she was), and she had been frozen between her initial reaction to shrinking away from his seeking eye and stepping up to the threat.

Her father had superseded of course, and Sulien had been amazed with the utter ease at which he had put the man to his knees, retching until it seemed his insides were going to become outsides.

Now, years later (and removed and estranged from her family to boot), it was far less impressive. It was more a matter of the alcohol already disagreeing with the system to begin with than any impressive  
skill or force. An elbow here – a fist there – and they were down. It seemed the brew didn't want to stay put any more than the drunks wanted to be docile.

She had a man's arm pinned in an uncomfortable twist behind his head when she heard the shout. "Oy, skirt! Catch!"

It wasn't the shout itself that caught her attention so much as the subsequent unidentified-flying-body; belatedly realizing she had just been called a skirt, Sulien bristled. First things first, of course; she sidestepped calmly, a well place foot set him tripping hard and a hand to the back of the scull rendered the man-made-projectile harmless. Agitatedly, she passed the man off to a startled looking Vasilis and scanned the room for the trouble maker –

Another man was barreling towards her, and judging by the look on his face, the action wasn't a voluntary one (in fact, he was looking at her with a horrified look of impending doom). Quickly shoving the second man into Vasilis's awkward capture, she glared –

At a man who was leering and wiggling his eyebrows at her.

Sulien froze. `Well what the hell…' For a moment, she frowned –then, acting on a hunch, she glanced back at Vasilis, and the poor boy just wasn't any better at hiding his emotions drunk than he was  
when sober. It was clear from the stricken look on his face that he knew the other man. His horror pretty much said aloud, `Oh crap, I've been caught!'

"The one ye started the fight with, eh?"

Vasilis started to laugh; she didn't, so he cut off in a sudden bout of coughs, which (judging by his pained wince) did nothing to help his bruising abdomen. "Eh, yes'm," he finally moaned, all sulk and apology and not a whit of use to him.

_Now_ Sulien smiled.

Abruptly snatching the latter hapless man out of Vasilis's less-than-perfect captivity (it was more like an unwilling bear hug), Sulien whirled and abruptly send them man tumbling back at the craggy-faced  
man. "Oh no – you're gonna clean it up yerself, mister!" she shouted back. "I don't accept shit from strangers!"

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence ****- 8991**

**DraconicCat**

As the drunk comes careening back towards Kregan, wind-milling his arms in a desperate but futile bid to halt his ungainly flight, the ex-merc roars with laughter before putting a fist in the poor sods face and felling him like an ox.

"Picky, picky! Jus' like a damned skirt! I s'pose 'e did look a bit like shit, eh?" He shakes off the man clinging to his leg and moves him on his merry way to unconsciousness with a good solid kick.

He grabs the last one stuck to his back, shakes him like a rag doll until his teeth literally rattle, ignores the warning glare from Vasilis, and tosses him at Sulien.

"This 'un more t'yer likin', skirt?"

His grin is hard, feral, challenging.

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence - 8992**

**Melitza ****( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

Vasilis felt like he was watching some sort of a terrible wreck happening in slow motion. True, he was transfixed and couldn't look away – but at the same time, he knew perfectly well that the only way  
things could turn out was very, very badly.

Kregan didn't seem to notice (or care) when Vasilis made frantic and less-than-dignified "don't!" motions with his free hand. Instead, the ex-merc grabbed yet another drunkard… and threw him at Sulien.

"This `un more t'yer likin', skirt? Or is 'e too soft for ye?"

`Oh. Dear. Gods.' The tavern was going to combust, they were all going to die, and it was all because of Kregan and his gods-be-damned fire-brandy. Wincing, Vasilis held his first captive tight in his arms, unconsciously using the poor man as a human shield.

The newest human-projective didn't even make it to Sulien. He lost his footing somewhere mid transit, and when he slammed hard into the tavern floor, Sulien finally spoke. "Vasilis."

`Oy. This is the bad…' Vasilis winced and waited for the axe to fall (figuratively or literally, he wasn't sure, but he secretly hoped literally – that would be quicker, at least).

"We're gonna have a nice long chit-chat later `bout these boys yer hangin' with." That certainly wasn't a smirk in her voice; no way in tartarus. What the hell had been in that brandy anyway? "They might'n jus' be a bad influence."

She was reaching for her sword, and horrified, Vasilis tried to think of some way to circumvent the wreck. `Run, Kregan, run!' he thought, motioning frantically at the other man (even knowing Kregan would never, never run) –

And then, suddenly, the sheathed sword was arcing in the air. Though momentarily stunned, his training kicked in and he snatched the blade from the air, staring at it in numb confusion. "Ehhh -?"

"But the boy `n' I are gonna have a lil chat first. `Silis – you be a dear `n' take care of the rest, eh?"

Amazingly enough, Kregan did nothing when she approached him – didn't even flinch as she crowded his personal space, sized him up with an expression of mild boredom. He had some inches on her, but somehow when they stood there amidst the chaos and havoc, they were eye to eye.

Finally, Sulien spoke. "The floozies are a bit bland, but yer lookin' just about right, boyo."

`Ohhh, this is the bad…' Vasilis groaned, and it was all he could do not to close his eyes and hide in a corner.

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence ****- 8983**

**Earning Your Bruises**

**DraconicCat**

Kregan had two classifications for women: skirts – good for warming your bed and bearing your whelps, and little else, and shields – fellow soldiers who made fearsome, skilled warriors, brothers in arms, good for watching your back in a fight, locking shields with you in a wall, and sharing drinks when the opportunity arose. He tended to throw women into the first category until they proved otherwise, whether or not they were in a uniform or carrying a weapon.

He had met a great many of both in his career, had soldiered alongside "shields" better at killing than many of the other men, had even been trained under some of them. He admired their strength of character and will, their spitfire personalities, their unwillingness to ever give up, whatever the odds. Skirts, however, were soft, often vacuous, flighty, fragile, defenseless – and often had a poison sting of one sort or another (usually, in his experience, husbands or older brothers they didn't tell you about until they were trying to avenge the damned skirts' honor or some such).

Perhaps that was what so baffled and fascinated – and frustrated! – him with Aidanna. He couldn't classify her – she was strong-willed and fiery one moment, defenseless and vulnerable the next, and that absolutely enchanted him. And vexed him to no end! And now, to make things even worse, she upends the whole damned thing on him by being a witch!

Witches (mages of any ilk, the Gifted, Heralds), to Kregan, were a whole different creature – unpredictable, dangerously so, unreliable and temperamental, dangerous on a whole new level. To discover his lover is one of them – well, there's that hidden poison sting, eh?

And then, before he can even begin to sort out his feelings – betrayal, distrust, anger – she leaves! Leaves! The brawl (and the drinking, of course) has done little to alleviate his frustrations, has in fact only stoked them to greater heights. Confrontation with Aidanna is what he seeks (not that he would ever hit her – he's never struck a skirt in anger in his life), but in her absence, others will do. The other drunks in the bar have offered little challenge, and he's failed to get a rise out of Vasilis – though, in truth, he's not sure he wants to prod the man that far, having seen him on the battle-field first-hand. Perhaps this shield stalking towards him will suffice. By what he's observed so far, she has exceptional strength and skill, and perhaps mettle enough to match him.

Judging by Vasilis' complete deference to her, she's either his lover or his commanding officer. Kregan's putting his money on the latter (gods save him if he's wrong), though he can't make out her rank insignia through his bleary eyes. He's not stupid enough, despite being extraordinarily drunk, to take the first swing at a guard, but he knows from experience the exact move he can make to elicit the response he's seeking. He allows her to approach him, standing still, though his whole body quivers like a hunting dog with the quarry's scent, just waiting for the master's command. Allows her to close with him, well within reach of several vital spots, stands nose to nose with her, hard brown eyes glaring into hers. His nostrils flare, and his grin hardens.

"Boy, am I? ... Skirt!" His voice is low, the last word comes out in a derisive hiss. Before she can move, he wraps her in a bear hug, and plants a huge, wet kiss right on her lips.

*****

Earning Your Bruises - Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence

**Melitza ****( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

"Boy, am I? … Skirt!"

The wagon was off the track and careening to that point of no return. Impossibly, Vasilis got an inkling of what was about to happen, and helplessly, he threw forward a hand, as if to ward off the impending  
wreck. "KREGAN, NOOOooOOOoo! " It was already too late.

In slow motion, the craggy-faced mercenary threw his arms around her –

And pressed a wet, sloppy kiss to Sulien's lips.

Maybe half a second of utter, sheer horror passed. `Sulien is going to kill him. Sulien is going to kill _me_. Sulien is going to kill us _all_!' Vasilis felt his face flush; the floor seemed to pitch and  
keel like the deck of a ship at sea, and for a terrible moment, he thought he was going to pass out.

And then, the wrath of Sulien was passed down.

Her knee flew up so fast and so hard that Vasilis thought he could actually hear a `crack!' from clear across the room. Vasilis didn't know a whole lot about the other merc's past or if he kept up with his  
family, but somewhere in the world, one woman's chances of having wild little grandchildren had just been dramatically reduced.

The color drained from Vasilis's face, and he felt shooting sympathy pains for the other man. The color simply _died_ in Kregan's face, as he became a sickly, ghostly shade of white.

Her knee receeded, but unfortunately, it looked like one hand had –

Taken its place. Vasilis shifted uncomfortably in place. `Oh ye gods have mercy!'

Sulien seemed to be squeezing and twisting (though it was hard to tell from this angle) – but whatever it was, it was working hella good. Kregan's sheet-pale face was covered in sweat, and he looked like he  
was going to be sick –

Undoubtedly, it hurt. It hurt _a lot_. In fact, Vasilis thought he heard the other man make a vomiting noise when her second fist lifted him from the ground by his gut, her first hand still squeezing away.  
To his credit (or his sorrow), he didn't actually throw up (probably swallowed to save face, the poor, poor man), but rather simply landed hard on the ground when Sulien let go and took a step back.

He hit the stained tavern floor in a clatter of bones-on-wood, curled protectively around him, um, bits-n-pieces. `Gods above, please never let Sulien's full wrath fall upon me,' the ex-Maizen thought, face  
paling considerably when moments slipped by and his friend still did not rise. `Ye gods – did she rip them off?!' His discomfit was suddenly multiplied – and apparently the feeling was shared by a lot of men who had taken interest in the brewing fight between the guard and the initial brawler, because a lot of people seemed to be swaying and shifting awkwardly at the moment, hands cupping protectively at their waists. In any other situation, the sight might have been funny; as it were, it was just utterly, utterly horrifying.

Sulien towered over the felled Kregan, eyes flickering dispassionately as she stared down at him and slowly, distastefully wiped at her mouth. A small moan escape Kregan, and Sulien cocked her head at him. "No needs t' be beatin' yerself up over the `might've'beens' , boyo. I prolly would'a done that anyway." It sure as hell wasn't an apology, but it was as close to comforting words as the man was going  
to get.

Luckily, she stood just out of reach when she spoke; Vasilis wouldn't put it past Kregan to yank her footing out from beneath her if she was within reach. And he sure as hell wouldn't put it past Sulien to  
finish the half-castration job if he did.

"Well… prolly," she finished, and there was an odd twinkle in her eye as she whirled on the suddenly much-quieter bar around them. "Oy, if anyone else wants `is balls handed to `im, step up! I'm in the mood!" And he had absolutely no doubt in his mind that she was; Vasilis (along with the most of the rest of the horrified witnesses) shrank into himself in more ways than one.

Sulien either didn't notice or didn't care. "Otherwise, the rest of ye better the hell start cleanin' up this goddamn mess an' get home to yer families a'fore I get real pissy!"

And just like that, the bar fight of winter solstice came to its end. A terrible, terrible ending that would forever be spoken of in hushed whispers of `castration' and `stone cold bitch with an iron grip' in Kenthle's Tavern.

"Yo, `Silis!" The young guard nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized she was right in his face, eyes twinkling with something that just _couldn't_ be merriment. "Be a dear `n' take yer friend t' a  
holdin' cell to sober up for the night, eh?"

"Um – yes'm –" he started, shifting the man he only just now remembered was still in his awkward captivity a little more comfortably on his hip. Kregan still hadn't moved, but Vasilis wasn't stupid enough to think he was unconscious. Maybe pouting, but certainly aware, and it was going to be one awkward trip to jail. Somehow, he had an inkling tha Sulien realized that, and had chosen him for the task for exactly that reason (cruel, cruel woman that she was…)

"And put yer stupid ass in the cell while yer at it. I'll come get ye when I get things cleaned up `round here." She didn't even turn back to assure that he would comply – she already knew he would. She even  
knew he'd faithfully put himself in the cell with Kregan just as she'd asked, if only to assure the safety of his, erm, tender areas.

"Oy, what a way to spend the Winter Solstice! I swear I could strangle ye sometimes, `Silis!" he heard her begin to rant, and Vasilis (smart boy that he was) realized that this was definitely time to make his timely retreat with Kregan.

To jail.

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence ****- 8995**

**Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200**

**DraconicCat**

For several eternities, Kregan's world is made up of pain. As the pain slowly – oh, so slowly – begins to recede, he spends the next few eternities re-learning how to breath, and the next few after that trying desperately not to wretch his guts out – or even worse (and more un-manning than what he'd just experienced), cry. A couple of small moans do escape, but he manages to keep the contents of his gut where they belong. When he can formulate thoughts beyond *expletive! mother of expletive! expletive! gods be expletive! unholy expletive!*, he belatedly braces himself for the follow-through kick to the ribs, then realizes more than enough time has passed as he groveled on the stained tavern floor for Sulien to have taken advantage of his helplessness, and she hasn't.

"No needs t' be beatin' yerself up over the `might've'beens' , boyo. I prolly would'a done that anyway."

*expletive! cold-hearted expletive!* He can sense she is still standing nearby, but not within arms reach – at least, not without his moving, and he's sure as all-hells not about to do that yet. Oh, no, he and the floor are becoming great friends, and if she's not going to kick him while he's down, that's just bloody expletive! fine for the moment. He remains where he is, becoming more acquainted with the wide variety of stains on the floor, as Sulien chastises the rest of the men in the tavern, and waits for the sickening pain in his groin to fade to something at least a little bit bearable. He's pretty sure even the worst gut-wound couldn't possibly hurt this badly.

Footsteps approach, and Vasilis is there, helping (pulling) Kregan to his unsteady feet. Kregan hisses through his teeth, but otherwise makes no noise or protest. Vasilis lends him a shoulder, and the two of them make their stumbling but surprisingly swift way out of Kenthle's, skirting widely around Sulien as she oversees the clean-up from the brawl.

As they stumble along the street, Kregan finally speaks, his voice a little more hoarse than usual.

"Ye haven't thrashed me yet, 'Silis, so'm guessin' she ain't yers, eh?" He laughs wryly at the horrified expression on Vasilis' face, winces, coughs. He glances around at their surroundings, gestures at a nearby building with clouds of steam drifting sedately from the doorway.

"Don't s'pose I c'n talk ye inta a quick stop a'th' bath house, fer a soak? Ne'er mind, _she'd_ come huntin' us down, wouldn't she? Gods be, let me down, let me down a bit, eh?" He stops walking, and as soon as Vasilis lets go of his arm, bends over, both hands on his knees. He coughs hard, hawks and spits, then stands again. Pokes at his own ribs, winces, then grins wryly. "Expletive! think she cracked a rib or three. S'pose I deserved that."

Before Vasilis can become too impatient with his troublesome friend, he continues walking, shrugs off the offered shoulder with a subdued growl. "'M fine, 'm fine! Not a gods be invalid, 'Silis." Though he walks a bit more gingerly than his usual lumbering swagger. "Gods be expletive!, I'm not gonna be of any use t' Aidanna in this shape – assumin' she actually comes back from wherever she bloody ran off to – ye sure 'bout that soak, man?"

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence ****- 8996**

**Melitza ****( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

They made gave Sulien a wide birth, just in case she ended up changing her mind and lashing out just for the hell of it. She didn't, but Vasilis felt much better knowing his balls were well out of reach of her hands.

For now, anyway.

They were quiet for a while before Kregan finally spoke.

"Ye haven't thrashed me yet, `Silis, so'm guessin' she ain't yers, eh?" the other ex-merc prodded, and Vasilis couldn't even hide the momentary flash of fear and horror from his face.

"She's like my sister," he muttered, probably too low for Kregan to hear anyway. `My _older_ sister who thrashes me when I do something that'll upset mum and da,' his mind completes sourly, and not for the  
first time, the Big Bad Maizen somewhere deep inside him cringes and bristles at the mere thought of it.

But it lasts only momentarily, and Vasilis softens almost as quickly. `But I'd die for her,' he is able to admit without hesitation. It is, perhaps, a promise that comes as easily as any he's ever made before in his life.

Vasilis sighs; he's feeling uncharacteristically affectionate tonight. Some brew, that fire brandy.

Kregan is babbling about some bath house, and Vasilis only grunts in response, letting the other man go when he requests and hanging back to give him some space. (There was no overestimating the importance of space in healing ones pride, or erm, prides, after all). When he complains about broken ribs, Vasilis can only grab his side and wonder if he, too, would be requiring a trip or two to the House of Healing.

"Ye sure `bout that soak, man?"

Vasilis sighs deeply, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably as he shifts his gaze here and there and everywhere but at the slightly swaggering man. "She asked that we go chill in a waiting cell for awhile, so we're already there, y'know?" Kregan peers at him a little suspiciously, and against his better senses, he feels a leer growing. He teetered towards with a cheesy grin, eyes nearly swallowed in his overzealous smile. "I'm not letting her do to _me_ what she did to _you_. You're a tough old goat, but a young swelling stud like me might die from that kind of abuse."

He couldn't stop the laughter at this point – it was all just so damn funny.

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence ****- 8998**

**DraconicCat**

Kregan blinks, and then bursts out in great guffaws of laughter, pains mostly forgotten, giving Vasilis a playful slug on his arm before slinging an arm around his shoulders. He companionably knocks foreheads with him, still laughing. They continue weaving down the street to their undesired destination.

"Thought I _was_ dyin' fer a bit there! Old goat! Hah!" He peers at the ex-Maizen thoughtfully for a moment. "So if'n yer a 'young stud', man, why ain'cha got a skirt or four on yer arms, eh? Gone th' dreaded way o'the priests, 'ave ye?" He doesn't notice the sudden darkening of Vasilis' expression, and gestures at another building they pass, this one decorated with busts of demure dancing girls covered in veils. "I know a couple skirts can fix that right up for ya... Or if'n the skirts don't catch yer fancy anymore, 'm sure they know a couple boys – OW! What the hell! Was jus' kiddin' ya! Expletive!! Yer so damned techy sometimes!" He rubs his stinging shoulder, glaring at Vasilis.

They walk in silence for a bit, each chewing on their own dark thoughts. The buildings they are passing start showing signs of a better neighborhood – cleaner, higher-quality carvings and decorations, a few buildings even have honest walled courtyards and gates, rather than opening directly onto the street, which is also cleaner, has smoother cobblestones, and a distinct lack of trash and refuse in the gutters.

Kregan breaks the silence between them again, this time with a melodramatic sigh, ruined by him hawking and spitting again.

"Truth, 'Silis, how in all-hells d'ye keep a skirt happy? 'Sides th' obvious, o'course!" He waggles his eyebrows, but only gives a half-hearted leer. He sighs again, frowns, scrubs at his short-cropped hair with both hands. "Aragh! I think I wrecked it but good, 'Silis! She went all witchy on me – set fire t' th' bed – 'n you know me, I di'n't have th' best o' reactions t'that! Well, then _she_ got madder 'n hell and took off! Expletive! She din't gimme a chance t'figger things out, jus' took off!"

He stands still in the street for a moment, staring at Vasilis, his expression a rare one of fear mixed with sorrow. "What if ... what if... she don't come back?"

*****

**Re: A Little Bit of Gratuituos Violence ****- 8999**

**Melitza ****( www . fanfiction . net/u/731072/ )**

"What if ... what if... she don't come back?" he asked, and the fear and sorrow on his face was a lingering, hurtful echo of something deep and festering inside the Guard.

Vasilis halted, and for a moment, two women vied for top spot in his mind. One of them was blonde with a gentle smile and soft words, and the other was a brunette with bright eyes and rambunctious conviction.

In the end, he scoffed and dismissed both. What the hell did it matter, which won out in his thoughts? They were gone. Neither had come back. Neither ever would.

"Life goes on," Vasilis replied simply, and if the bland, empty words brought either comfort or pain to the other man, he didn't know and nor did he particularly care.

Lowering his head into his collar, Vasilis shook off the sudden mood and made a shuffling step forward –

And halted when he heard a shriek, a roar, and the sound of breaking glass.

"Oh sh*t," he hissed, eyes darting from Kregan, to the sound of the disturbance, and towards the prison again.

The decision was a surprisingly easy one to make.

"Come on, Kregan! Some do-gooder work might get us back in Suli's good graces!" he shouted, and grabbed the man by the collar on his way past.

_Continued in It's A Little Hot In Here – Down the Rabbit Hole_


	5. Down the Rabbit Hole

Real life has a tendency of getting in the way of favored past-times, so it's been a ridiculously long time since I've updated this story, although our group continued to write for several more years. I've never forgotten these favored toys, and still love to take them out to play with now and again.

The next several chapters in this story are a collaborative effort with several other writers from the Valdemar's Intrigue group. For continuity, I'm including their work here in chronological order, with appropriate credits and linkies. :oD Also included are the post numbers, in case your curiosity gets the better of you and you decide to wander over to our group for further reading...

Oh! Almost forgot the disclaimer: Valdemar and all related concepts are property of Mercedes Lackey, not me. I make no profit from the imaginings scribbled below.

**Down the Rabbit Hole – Part 1 - Post 8986**

When: Late evening, after Aidanna's fight with Kregan  
Where: Therese Goldbloom's home - Haven  
Who: Aidanna, Therese Goldbloom  
Tags: Anyone!

She reaches her destination after a good bit of walking...

The small but elegant home of her friend Therese Goldbloom, a fellow student from the Collegium and the only child of Cerold Goldbloom, premier accountant to several merchants of the city, one of them being IceHeart K'leysha. Therese was being groomed to follow in her father's footsteps, and so had been sent to the Collegium in addition to having several private tutors. The two girls had met shortly after IceHeart hired Cerold, at one of the many small fetes IceHeart was always throwing in her quest to court and forge alliances with as many influential merchants and nobles as she could, and despite their very different personalities, had become fast friends and often co-conspirators. Therese is the water to Aidanna's fire; cool and calculating, patient beyond measure, with a subtle yet quirky sense of humor. Therese was, in fact, one of the very few of that crowd who was still willing to have anything to do with her after she'd left IceHeart's household.

She knocks on Therese's door, hard, rests her head against the smooth wood while she waits. She sniffles, rubs her nose, tucks her hands under her armpits. *Stupid git! Have a tantrum and leave home without your damned jacket!* Shivering, she knocks on the door again, harder this time. Looks over her shoulder, debating on going back... Hurried footsteps. The sound of voices raised in argument, before the door cracks open.

"Who the blazes comes calling at this hour?" Therese's voice, shrill with annoyance, her green eyes peering through the cracked door, widening in surprise. "Oh! 'Danna, what are you doing here?" The door swings open wide, and Therese, elegantly dressed in green silk, gold sparkling at wrists, throat and ears, hair elegantly coiffed, pulls Aidanna into a dimly lit hallway, closes and bars the door behind.

"What's the matter, dear? ... Have you been crying?" She holds Aidanna at arms length, studying her face. "Has that beast of a man done something to you?" Therese has never approved of Aidanna pairing off with the ex-merc, Kregan. "I told you he was no good, 'Danna! You're better than he is, you know he's beneath your station –"

Aidanna raises a hand to fend off Therese's criticisms, tries to speak, but suddenly can't get her voice around the painful lump in her throat. Her face crumples, and the tears well up again.

"Oh, 'Danna, shhh, it'll be alright," Therese pulls her into a quick hug, awkwardly patting her on the shoulders, trying to offer comfort while keeping her friend's tears from staining her silk dress. Aidanna is enveloped in the scent rosewater perfume, a hint of brandy, the sharp scent of something herb-like, unfamiliar.

"Come on, then, let's get you something to drink, and you can tell me all about it," and she leads Aidanna down a sparse but elegantly decorated hallway, and into her father's study. She bustles about for a few moments, seating Aidanna on one of the surprisingly plush settees, pouring two snifters of brandy ("My own specialty! Don't tell father, alright?" as she pulls a small decanter filled with a dark gold liquid), poking the fire in the fireplace back to life. She settles herself on the settee next to Aidanna, hands her one of the glasses, clinks the glasses together in a silent toast. They down their drinks together, and Aidanna coughs a little, still not liking the burn of alcohol as it goes down. Therese pours a second, sipping at this one delicately, and replaces the top in the decanter, setting it aside.

"So, then, my dear, tell me everything."

As the warmth from the brandy spreads in her belly, sending tendrils of numbing warmth outward through her limbs, she relaxes a little, leans her elbows on her knees, and tells Therese everything, from her nightmare the eve before to arriving on her friends' doorstep. Surprisingly, there are no more tears, and her story, while clear and concise, is told in a dull voice. Sometime in the telling, she's finished her second drink, and at the conclusion, she simply stops speaking and stares at the empty glass. *How strange... it's empty... like me...* She tries to call up the hurt from Kregan's rejection, tries to remember the fear from her nightmare, feels nothing. She looks up at Therese, and feels a very distant surprise at seeing her friend weaving about unsteadily. The room spins clockwise a bit, then settles. She blinks, and the furniture in the room begins to sway back and forth, first near, then far. She closes her eyes heavily, tries to count to ten, realizes she can't remember what comes after three, opens her eyes again to peer about, hoping this time the contents of the room will behave.

"Wha-" Her face has gone numb, and she can feel darkness tugging at the edges of her mind. Therese meets her gaze, her expression one of caring and concern. She reaches out and tucks a wisp of Aidanna's hair behind her ear, then stands and helps ease her back into the settee.

"Shhh, it's alright, 'Danna, just a bit of laudanum. It will help you sleep, dear, and will ease your heart for a bit. We'll discuss what to do about that man in the morning, alright?" Therese tucks a blanket around her shoulders, pats her gently on the shoulder, and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her. Aidanna stares at the flickering, dancing shadows bare their fangs on the wall until the darkness pulls her under.

**Down the Rabbit Hole – Part 2 - Post 8997**

She wakes in a cold, clammy sweat, blinking away fiery sparks, nauseous, disoriented. She sits up, struggles with the tangled blanket, nearly falls off the settee in trying to free herself. Her stomach churns, and she gets to her feet unsteadily, peering about the wavering room. The fire, burning merrily, taunts her with eye-piercing flickers of orange and yellow light. She winces, stumbles to the door, fumbles with the handle for several minutes before finally getting it open. Her hands seem very far away, dangling from arms forty feet long. The room stinks of heated metal and sweat.

She wanders into the hallway, bumping into a small stand with an expensive-looking vase, holds her breath for eternity as she watches the vase wobble and teeter, then stand still. Her held breath explodes from her in relief, followed by a nasty little belch with a foul taste behind it. She grimaces, covers her mouth and closes her eyes, until the nausea passes. The hall starts to teeter, and her eyes pop open, to steady it. Red and orange sparkles swim in her vision, and she feels sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades, though she is shivering.

Voices, down the hall. She heard voices before, didn't she? She wanders in that direction, slowly because the hallway keeps tilting, threatening to spill her down its length into the gaping maw of darkness at the end. A light seeps out from under a door, oozing along the floor until it reaches her toes. Where the hell are her shoes? She stares at her naked toes in bemusement, curling and uncurling them, until the voices, arguing heatedly, pull her attention back to the door. It is open, just a crack, and she peers through it, leaning against the wall to hold it in place, since the damned thing keeps trying to scurry away on centipede legs. She can't see much but blobs of color illuminated weirdly by flickering firelight, and the lurching movements of the shapes make her ill. She closes her eyes again, listening.

"That's my final offer, Therese! You'd better take it!" A man's voice, harsh but young, threatening and angry. His voice grates on Aidanna's ears, and she winces.

"Don't act as stupid as you look, Goran, you can't afford it. And don't threaten me. Ever." Therese, her voice dangerously low and sharp. A hard thud, the sound of something being closed, and the click of a lock. "You might just live to regret it, for a very long time. I don't think I need to remind you who I could speak to, who I might drop a few choice tidbits to, eh?"

The first voice laughs, a little wildly, and is followed by the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn. Therese gasps in fear, and Aidanna's eyes snap open.

"You can't control me with that threat any longer, you stupid whore! Your master can't bother anyone from the bottom of the river! Hah! Didn't think I'd actually stay under your thumb forever, did you? Now give me the gods-be-damned book!"

The crack of flesh-on-flesh, Therese crying out in pain, the sound of a body staggering and stumbling to the floor. Soft sobbing then, the sound of rustling cloth, the click of the key again. Aidanna's heart is racing, she's broken out in a sweat, but she can't seem to move.

A heavy hand falls on her shoulder, gripping painfully tight, and she squeaks with fright.

"Lookee here, Goran, a little mouse has been eavesdropping!" The hands owner speaks, a tall, lean young man with cruel gray eyes, as he shoves the door open and pushes Aidanna into the room. Once inside the room, she can see a bit more clearly, though the flickering firelight still makes her wince. Therese is huddled on the floor, a bright red handprint on her cheek, tears streaking her face. A small chest is open near her, and the first speaker – Goran – is looming over her, a long nasty-looking dagger – nearly a short-sword, really - in one hand, a small black leather-bound book in the other. They both look surprised.

"Found her listening at the door." The vice-like grip on her shoulder tightens, gives her a little shake. She grits her teeth, and her eyes water, but she refuses to whimper.

"Well, well, don't things just get more and more interesting with you, Therese?" Goran sets his little book on the desk, advances on Aidanna, a cruel glint in his wild, dilated eyes. The other man releases her, shoves her forward. Goran grabs her by the jaw, pinching hard, and this time she does whimper as pain shoots through her jaw. "You should pick your masters more carefully, little mouse – "

"Goran, don't! She doesn't have anything to do with this!" Therese reaches out a protesting hand, draws it back swiftly and tries to shield herself as Goran whirls back on her, fist lashing out and catching her on the cheek. She crashes to the floor, limp, blood streaming from her mouth. He turns back to Aidanna, and she shrinks back from the look of pure malice on his face.

"Now, little mouse, are you one of Therese's pets, or do you belong to someone else?" He grabs her by the chin again, pulling her forward and up, so she has to stand on tiptoe to relieve at least some of the pressure. He brings his dagger up, laying the flat of the blade along her throat, running it slowly along her flesh, just hard enough to draw a taste of blood.

"I – I don't belong to anyone – " Her voice is raspy with fear, slightly distorted because of his fierce grip on her jaw.

*WHAP!*

He slaps her arm with the flat of the blade, and she gasps, feeling a sting and then a warm trickle. She is starting to tremble all over, and her breath is coming in short, quick gasps. With one hand she grips his wrist, trying futilely to wrest herself from his grip, as her other hand fumbles desperately at her waste for the dagger she always carries there – Serende Swiftblade's dagger.

"I'll ask again, bitch! Who do you belong to?" This time his blade is playing it's way down the front of her shirt, slicing through the fabric easily, leaving a light trail of burning crimson behind. She keens in fear, her lavender eyes darkening to violet, panic swelling as old memories – old nightmares – begin to flicker in the back of her mind.

Where the hell is her dagger?! Aha! There! With fingers gone numb from fear, she grabs the hilt and draws the blade, lashes out blindly – all training forgotten – simply desperate to free herself. Feels the slight resistance that means the blade has struck true, has bitten flesh, hears Goran's surprised yelp of pain. Suddenly the crushing pain is gone from her jaw, and she staggers stupidly as the room begins to spin again and the colors melt away, and then Goran's fist smashes into her face, and she is falling, falling, falling.

Distantly, she can feel her body lying on the floor, but she is still falling. She sees nothing but stars, a whole galaxy, and she tries to blink them away. Suddenly there is a terrible weight on top of her, and she can feel hands closing on her throat, squeezing, crushing the breath out of her. The stars wink out, and she can see a face looming over her, twisted in a snarl of pure rage. She struggles, scrabbles at the hands of stone, tries to buck the horrible weight off of her. The face above her melts into a face straight out of her darkest nightmares, and even though she's having the life strangled out of her, she manages to scream, a torturous sound of pure terror.

The utter, implacable terror she feels at that moment is the only gestalt her rogue gift needs to break free of her iron control, and a sheet of orange and violet flames bursts forth with such force the man on top of her is blown backward, his own screams quickly drowning hers out. She staggers to her knees, still screaming, now caught in the midst of a waking nightmare, visions from the past super-imposing themselves over the present. All her carefully wrought internal barriers come crashing down, all the rage she's repressed for years comes pouring out, like oil on dry tinder, mixing with her terror, feeding on it.

"I belong to NO ONE!"

The entire room explodes in flames.

**Re: Down the Rabbit Hole - Part 2 - Post 9000**

**- herald_kethry-**

Raven was enjoying her free time out in the city of Haven. She didnt  
like being cooped up in the coolegiums with everyone who could  
possibly find out about her past. She found little comfort in a big  
city, but the crowd gave her enough interest to push away her  
lingering nightmares.

She was enjoying a cup of cider while passing by a closing down  
flowershop when she heard a terrible scream and a crash of glass.  
The cider froze in her throat and she gasped for breath. That was no  
ordinary scream. She quickly finished the last sip and tore through  
the streets at the direction it came. She screeched to a halt when  
she saw a massive home slowly enveloping in flames.

Something inside of her urged her to go into the home. There were  
still people there. They could be hurt...or worse...

She looked for a possible entryway that wasn't already crumbling.  
She covered her mouth with a piece of cloth she ripped from her  
sleeve and climbed through the hole. She heard a man shouting from  
the upper level of the home. She couldn't tell weather it was out of  
fear or rage. She felt for her dagger and found it still in its  
holster at her leg.

She saw an open staircase leading to the screams and quickly made  
her way up them. They were still sturdy enough to hold her weight.  
She ran to the nearest bathing room and filled an empty bucket with  
water from the faucet. She let the water continue to run as she  
splashed away the fire infront of her.

She made her way through the pathway she had just created, splashing  
as much water around as she could with her one bucket. It didnt seem  
to do a whole lot of good because flames were catching onto  
anything, for the entire home was made of mostly wood.

She opened the door to which she heard the screams, and is shoved  
over completely by a man screaming in utter terror out the door she  
just opened. When she regained stability she saw two other women in  
the room. One lying down with her face all bloodied up and another,  
well she wasnt sure what expression was on her face. She had never  
seen anything like it before.

She reached out to the second woman trying to calm her down. She  
picked up the woman lying on the floor and tries to get her to at  
least sit.

"What is your name?" She askes the woman still concious. "We have to  
get out of here."

*****

**It's Kinda Hot In Here... Post 9001**

_** -Aidanna-**_

A maelstrom of flame swirls outward from Aidanna, still on her knees, consuming everything it touches, and she snarls, her face a rictus of terror and rage. She focuses that great and terrible rage on her assailant – Memnar! – and he writhes on the floor, screaming - a horrid, high-pitched sound of pure agony, his entire body engulfed in flame. She will burn him! Destroy him! Burn him to ashes, until nothing is left! He will NEVER touch her again!

A loud crash, and her flames swirl and twist toward a new source of air, drawing her attention to the now-open door, and a smoke-obscured figure. She blinks in surprise, snarls at the intrusion. Her snarl turns to another scream, a shriek of fury! It's Memnar again! Why – won't – he – just – DIE! He wanted her fiery gift so badly he tortured her to steal it – twice! Well, she'll give it to him! And gladly! She snaps her arms forward, and a wave of roaring flame – sinuous in it's deadly beauty – undulates toward him. The doorway disappears, fully engulfed.

_**-Therese-**_

Therese comes to coughing and choking on – smoke?! She blinks, her eyes stinging, her face a single massive ache that pulses in time to her rapid heartbeat, and peers about the room in sheer disbelief and horror. Everything is burning! The room is so hot, she can barely breath. What in all-hells had Goran done?! How could she have so mis-read the potential intentions of such a simple pawn?

She realizes belatedly that someone is holding her up, trying to get her to stand. A stranger – not a face she's seen before – a random do-gooder risking their life to save her. How ... quaint! She complies, rising to her feet with uncanny grace born of years of schooling at the hands of merciless tutors, a grateful simper on her bruised face, already calculating how she can maneuver owing a complete stranger a favor into a benefit for herself. Her simper turns to a gape of terror, and she squeaks with fright at the sight of Aidanna.

The young woman is kneeling over a char-blackened corpse, the most horrific expression on her face as flames surge around her, devouring everything but not touching her. Her black hair is a wild dark halo that twists and ripples in the heat, and when she looks over at Therese and her would-be rescuer – her eyes are a brilliant violet, like two purple flames of their own. And they are void of everything but rage.

Aidanna raises her arms, grabbing at the air as if she's gathering huge armfuls of something and screaming in a most horrible fashion, then snaps them forward in a hurling motion. With another terrified squeak, Therese dives backward, grabbing the arm of her erstwhile companion and pulling the poor woman with her, and they fall out through the doorway and into the hallway in an ungainly sprawl – though she does have the presence of mind to keep the do-gooder between herself and the enraged firestarter. Just in time, as a wave of white-hot flame roars over-head and fills the doorway. Therese scuttles backward, kicking and batting at the flamelets that have landed on her green silk dress. The other woman – the do-gooder – pats out the flames with quick, practiced ease, and Therese curses herself silently as she tallies favors owed.

_**-Kregan-**_

"Urk!"

Vasilis' grip on Kregan's collar nearly pulls him off his feet, and he staggers until he manages to match paces with the man.

"Gah! Leggo, man!" He rasps out as they run, trying to untwist Vasilis' fingers from his collar. They don't have far to run, though, and they both skid to a stop in disbelief after turning the corner.

One of the small but stately houses on the street has caught fire, and is burning so brightly and fiercely it might have been soaked in oil. Several windows in the upper story have burst, and smoke and flames billow out. Flames crawl down the wooden frame of the house to the ground level, moving with unnatural speed.

Another scream rips through the night, most definitely coming from inside the burning house. Vasilis doesn't hesitate, and Kregan is only a step behind him.

"Ah, expletive! Suli's good graces better be damned worth this!"

**Herald_Kethry Post 9002**

Raven jumped down to the ground as another burst of flame came from  
Aidanna. She pulled Theresa down in just enough time so she wasnt  
scortched. Once the flame had died down again she stood up holding  
Theresa.

"Hey!" She shouted at Aidanna. "I don't know your name or where you  
come from, but in order for ANY of us to make it out of here alive,  
YOU have to CONTROL yourself!" She saw that Aidanna had been totally  
consumed by rage, she hardly resembled a human being anymore.

"Calm down Aidanna! Your attackers are gone." She looked down at the  
scortched corpse infront of Aidanna and coughed. "This house is  
going to fall apart any minute!"

Raven cringed as she saw another burst of flame come from the girl.  
She fell down to the floor once more and reached for her water  
bucket. She picked it up and flung the water in Aidannas  
direction. "I can help you!" She shouted again over the roaring  
flames. Parts of the room were starting to crumble. "If I can't I  
can get you to people who can!"

Raven prayed that help was on the way. SOMEONE had to have noticed  
the burning building by now, no matter how late in the evening it  
was. The firefighters...guards...or anyone... She just prayed that  
they would all make it out alive.

**Melitza ( www . fanfiction u/731072/ ) Post 9003**

The moment he forces open the sturdy oak door, the rush of back draft  
across his face carries an unmistakable scent with it. Charred yet  
sickeningly sweet – disgustingly like meat, and yet slightly  
different (not much… but enough).

The scent of burning flesh was one that Vasilis Shanley had thought  
would be left behind in his last life. One that he hadn't thought he  
would ever smell again in his mundane, law-abiding, goody-goody two-  
shoes life as a guard of Valdemar.

His stomach does not turn, though his gut does twist in some  
indeterminate mix of horror, shock… and excitement. (Vasilis Shanley  
was once, and ever will be, a creature with just enough darkness  
mixed in to find excitement in the macabre, but enough conscious to  
feel guilt for it.)

He hesitates for only a heart beat, and then he is following the  
billows of smoke, running low and vaulting up the stairs towards the  
fire without hesitation. He easily slams and kicks open doors around  
him, checking rooms, but all seems surprisingly empty – some maid  
servants rush past him on their way out, and he pays them no heed at  
all. (It's the ones that _aren't_ running that he's looking for.)

It doesn't take long for Kregan to find the rhythm and follow suit,  
and soon, Vasilis is hunting on the left, and the other merc on the  
right, and the place will be cased in little to no time. Which is a  
relief, because the roar of the fire is deafening now, and their time  
is up.

The screaming of a girl finally gives him focus, and finally, he has  
a direction. They are both off in an instant, and soon he is beside  
a girl who is cradling a slightly mussed aristocratic woman. The  
shouting girl looks entirely unharmed, though the aristocratic  
woman's face looks to be blossoming with a bruise and her green dress  
is sporting black burns.

"I can help you!" the girl is screaming. "If I can't, I can get you  
to people who can!"

`There is another,' he realizes, and moves to sidle around the girl –

Fire licks in inhuman ways along the walls – it's a living, breathing  
creature. A dangerous predator, prowling hungrily and eating away at  
walls and materials and fabrics in wickedly gluttonous displays that  
are unnatural. It's burning too fast, too hard, too hot – everything  
is wrong, and the house is groaning around them now.

He grasps the yelling woman's arm, gentle but firm in his grip, and  
wills her to look into his face. "Go, now. Save this woman – get  
help!" She hesitates for maybe half a second, and he lets go of her  
arm and reiterates, firm but urgent. "I'll get the other one. Now  
go!"

The room is unstable… the unnatural flames are rotting away at the  
frameworks, at the walls – at everything. The heat is burning at  
him, and just the same, something inside him keeps him from following  
the other girls retreat.

`There is another,' his mind recants, and he sees her now, kneeling,  
not looking at him – frozen amidst the hell around her. `Save the  
other!'

His feet refuse him for only a moment, and then, against everything  
instinct and alarm bell going off in his head, he leaps into the  
room. He pauses only when he sees the charred body in front of the  
girl, and the angry, almost vacant expression in her violet eyes.

Vasilis Shanley is a lot of things, but he is not dumb, and he puts  
two and two together instantly. He looks from the body, to the girl,  
to the maelstrom around them, and hesitates for a moment longer.

But then, there is a terrible warning groan on something over them  
declares that it is past the abuse it can withstand, and Vasilis  
reverts back to what he does best: act first, and muddle through the  
rest later. Who was he trying to fool? Thinking was not his forte,  
and judgment over such sticky things just wasn't his. Let the  
Herald's be judge and jury. But to execute – to _do_, to act, to  
protect – that was his.

`Save the other!' his mind commands, and he leaps without even  
thinking about it.

The support beam cracks into his back instead of the girls head, and  
he staggers to his knees before her (under it). It's maybe broken  
some ribs, and belatedly, he feels sticky blood working its way down  
his back and side. Gods above, that hurt (but not worse than  
Sulien's fist, amusingly enough)…

He looks into her eyes (still vacantly furious, and still so bright,  
bright violet – they remind him of another's eyes, though he can't  
think of that now), and he smiles apologetically. "I can't save  
you," he says, honestly, and knows he can't. His chances of just  
grabbing her and running out of here aren't so good now with this new  
injury (gods, that beam is digging into him harder, and maybe it's  
still on fire because it burns), and maybe if she had incinerated the  
body before them, it hadn't been a likely scenario to begin with.

Maybe the man was innocent. Maybe _she_ was the bad guy. But he  
didn't want to believe that.

"I can't save you… but if you save yourself – I think maybe things  
can be ok." It's all he can offer her, but he feels strangely  
comforted knowing he can offer _something_ - knowing that he's done  
_something_.

Vasilis smiled, and then the world faded to black.

-Guard Vasilis Shanley-

**Annika Herald Kethry - Post 9004**

He grasps the yelling woman's arm, gentle but firm in his grip, and  
wills her to look into his face. "Go, now. Save this woman – get  
help!" She hesitates for maybe half a second, and he lets go of her  
arm and reiterates, firm but urgent. "I'll get the other one. Now  
go!"

Raven looked at Vasilis slightly frightened but glad that SOME help  
had finally arrived. She hesitated at first, not wanting to leave the  
other girl, her gift wanting to help everyone in the room.

She nodded finally and picked up Theresa in firm arms, steadying her  
so she could walk. The two quickly fled the room and down the stiars.  
Suddenly the ceiling above them shakes, and a beam falls crashing down  
from the weight of the collapsing roof.

She pushes the girl forward just in time to miss the beam, but gets  
some of the wieght of it on her own body. "Go!" She yells at Theresa  
as she tries to struggle out from the wieght of the beam. Once she is  
freed she looks up behind her. The pathway is completley blocked.

*The Guards...the girl* She thinks to herself and panicks. *There is  
no way out for them.* She freezes in a moment of thought, wondering if  
she should try to go back up and help or run and get help from town.  
*Theres not much time left, this house will collapse any minute.*

Seeing as there is no way back up she decideds to run and get help.  
She makes her way out the door just in time to see another room in the  
building completely collapse. "Theresa, your fine enough to walk,  
there's a house of healing down the street, go get help. I'm going to  
run to the fire house."

Raven runs with all the strenght she has left, darting through the  
winding streets of Haven. Surely they have noticed the fire by now,  
why hasn't more help come...it's not like it's a small structure on  
fire...

**DraconicCat - Post 9005**

**-Aidanna-**

Her screams are drowned out by the deafening roar of the inferno; her vision is filled with flames, smoke and shadows. Memnar – or at least his apparition – has fled, but shards of nightmare still flicker around her, writhing and dancing through the flames. She feels another scream bubbling up inside, and welcomes it as it tears from her ravaged throat, welcomes the madness she feels licking at the scorched edges of her mind –

- and chokes on it as a huge, shadowed figure looms out of the flames and staggers to his knees right in front of her as a flame-covered beam falls across his back with crushing force. Wearing a face familiar to her, using a voice out of her horrific past, a faintly remembered voice of one of her rescuers -

"I can't save you… but if you save yourself – I think maybe things can be ok." The man smiles, then collapses slowly under the weight of the beam, his gray eyes closing.

The fractured world snaps into painful focus – the char-blackened corpse (she gags, just now noticing the stench); the man (a rescuer?) pinned before her, flames licking hungrily at his back; the raging inferno around her.

*Oh, gods, what have I done?* Her rage recedes, washing back with tidal force, leaving only her fear and horror at what she's done in its place, like oxygen-starved fish abandoned, trapped, on a lonely beach. She freezes, unable to move, to think, to breath –

"Git 'hold o' yerself, Aidanna! Goddammit!" Kregan's gravelly voice, roaring over the fire storm, and he is there, hard body wreathed in smoke, heaving the beam off the other man and kneeling next to them. His craggy face, smeared with soot and sweat, inches from her own, snarling at her – his battle-face, she imagines. He places a huge paw on her shoulder, gives her a gruff shake, glances over his shoulder at another crashing sound, looks back at her, his gaze intense. Pleading, but not fearful.

"Git control o' yerself, filly, or we're all dead!"

She blinks, and the world shifts to the left a bit, but remains in focus. She nods, once, then clenches her eyes closed, reaching out to her flames, touching them, tasting them with her mind – and drawing them back in. First, the flames nearby, extinguishing them with a thought. She clenches her fists, and reaches farther, to the edges of the room, and draws those flames back, too, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying out as they fight her command like a living creature, hissing, spitting, stinging.

The flames in the room have gone out, leaving behind angry smoldering embers and heavy clouds of smoke and ash. The fire in the hallway slowly falters, as if an invisible hand were smothering it by inches.

Then, farther, her body beginning to shake and tremble from the strain, her heart thundering in her chest, her breath coming in quick, short gasps. Her own body feels like it's on fire now, she's sure her flesh is crisping, her bones are melting. A trickle of wet on her face tells her she has bitten through her lip, but she can't feel that tiny pain through the excruciating heat she's drawing inside herself, swallowing it all down.

The roar of the fire decreases, a soft susurrus of hunger and heat, then fades to nothing. The house groans around them, cracks, pops, hisses.

She is trembling uncontrollably now, arms and legs jerking spasmodically, her body convulsing as it tries to cope with the terrible energy she's drawn back into herself. The world is losing focus, tilting her to the right, where the fire-blackened corpse has opened its maw of darkness to devour her. She slides down into it, pulling the last of the active flames with her.

**-Kregan-**

When Kregan sees Aidanna crouched over a blackened corpse like a maddened animal, flames swirling around her, he freezes for one instant. Certainly he's seen worse on the killing fields, but this particular sight just stops him in his tracks – a swirl of conflicting emotions battling inside him – fear, revulsion, love, protectiveness. The crack of the collapsing beam spurs him to action, and he curses himself for a coward as Vasilis intercepts the falling beam and collapses beneath it, sacrificing himself as he saves Aidanna.

"Git 'hold o' yerself, Aidanna! Goddammit!"

He surges forward, grabs the beam (time enough to worry about the damage to his bare hands later) and heaves it off Vasilis (praying to all the gods the man is still alive), then kneels next to them, seizing Aidanna by a shoulder, giving her a shake. Her eyes track jerkily toward him, brilliant violet lights fading to lavender, pupils dilated to pinpricks. What the expletive!?

"Git control o' yerself, filly, or we're all dead!"

He watches in horrified amazement as Aidanna pulls herself together (he'd always gone out of his way during his military career to avoid mages and their ilk as much as possible, often going so far as to refuse to work with them without a direct order, and so had little opportunity to witness their workings), and does – whatever the expletive! hell it is witches do with their abilities, and extinguishes the fire in the space of several heartbeats. With a strangled cry, Aidanna collapses, and begins to convulse, fresh blood streaming from mouth and nose.

Expletive! Kregan's pretty damned sure that's not supposed to happen, and he scoops her up in one arm, hissing at the touch of her body – she burns like a red-hot branding iron – and wrestles one of Vasilis' arms over his shoulder. Prays harder than he ever has before as he heaves to his feet, dragging the other man up with him.

"C'mon, ye god's-be-damned BLUE! Got some good will t'collect, 'n I'll be expletive! expletive! damned if I'm leavin' yer stinkin' carcass behind!"

The heat in the room is still incredibly intense, shimmering off most surfaces with malicious intent, but the flames, for the moment, are blessedly gone, and Kregan moves out of the house as swiftly as he can manage, staggering down the stairs, over the rubble, out the door.

"Medic!"

A crowd has gathered: some simple gawking bystanders in their nightrobes, shivering in the icy winter air, but most are of the more helpful sort. Guards in blue swarm over the area, along with a fire brigade, and there a small bevy of Healers surges forward, taking the semi-conscious Vasilis and the still-shaking Aidanna from his arms. He shrugs off the Healer that tries to see to his burns with a growl, trying to follow after the group that has taken his friends, but is stopped in his tracks by a familiar – and very angry – face. Sulien. He fights the urge to suddenly throw the Healer in front of him, and stands his ground, though he watches her warily – very, very warily.

**Melitza ( www . fanfiction u/731072/ ) - Post 9006**

Once the apparently troublemakers had been forcibly removed and a  
proper `incentive' had been laid out on the table for the rest, it was  
short work putting the tavern back in order. Maybe the winter  
solstice had the drunks in cheerier moods than normal. Either way,  
Sulien stayed just a little longer than was apparently necessary,  
watching the quiet bustling from behind crossed arms and a stern glare.

She had a half a mind of what had been going on. She noticed a man  
with more smoldering eyes than the rest, and she remembered him as  
being one of the key figures that had been attacking Vasilis's  
accomplice. He was sidling quietly towards the door, but Sulien  
managed to intercept his path before he could flee.

"If ye follow `em – if'n ye try t' stir anythin' up – well. Ye'll  
_beg_ fer me t' do what I did t' _him_, because it'll be hella more  
pleasant than yer fate." Her eyes are deathly serious, and he has the  
good grace to flush, and the wisdom to let the lingering bloodlust in  
his gaze fade.

"Hmph." Sulien puffed out an agitated breath as she surveyed the room  
one last time and realized that her presence really was overkill at  
this point. Another crisis averted. Severe vomiting aside, Vasilis  
was probably a little tipsy still, and now that he had his marching  
orders to take his friend to the jail, he would probably feel  
obligated to protect his `captive'. The boy was just silly like that  
sometimes, and the last thing she needed to do was see his face fading  
through a wicked array of bruise colors and feel guilty for not being  
there to steer him clear of trouble yet again.

When she left the tavern, she almost laughed out loud at how quickly  
their gay singing and raucous laughter filled the awkward silence.  
With a little easy finagling, it would be like the entire thing had  
never happened. She wouldn't _lie_ to the captain… but for Vasilis  
(who was already on thin ice with the commanders lately because of  
incidents just like this one), she wouldn't hesitate to blur that line  
between truth and fib, just a little.

He was her heart-brother, and that's what siblings did for each other,  
right?

Sulien smiled ruefully at herself, shaking her head to rouse the  
feeling away. She was supposed to be irked with him. Cleaning up his  
mess hadn't been too hard (this time), but that said nothing for the  
next time… or the time after that…

Absently, she traced the steps he likely would have taken. She was  
probably only trailing a few minutes behind, really – maybe she should  
take her time. Let him sweat in the holding cell, mull it over a  
little before she swept in and administered `punishment' in the forms  
of words far more lenient than he deserved.

It was with these idle, mundane things flitting through her mind that  
she came upon the scene where her world would fall apart.

"Ye gods –" Sulien's eyes widened, catching and reflecting the  
magnificent flames that seemed to be doing their best to reach up and  
lovingly lick at the heavens themselves. The house was beginning to  
collapse, and rescuers were surrounding the place, a collective  
hesitation taking hold as they seemed to struggle between the clear  
hopelessness of entering the place and the insistent voice of a  
dark-haired young woman in their midst. "They're still inside! A  
girl, two men –"

`Two men.' A beam in the house groaned and then crashed, sending  
sparks sky-high in a warning display of violence. Something inside  
her seemed to fall in time with it.

Sulien closed her eyes.

`Don't be inside,' she commanded him, and if sheer will could go back  
and change the past, he would be beside her right now, laughing at her  
for being so silly. `Gods-dammit, Vasilis, you  
drunk-pouting-over-emotional-IDIOT, don't you DARE be inside!'

The flames were suddenly rushing back in on themselves, but the damage  
was done. There was crashing, and roaring, and hissing and popping.  
And silence.

"You're inside," she whispered, and _knew_.

Her jaw clenched so hard her teeth felt ready to crack; the bone  
popped just beneath her ear, and when she opened her eyes to watch a  
huge portion of the roof collapse in on itself, a tear slid down her  
cheek. Her throat clenched as tight as the muscles in the rest of her  
body, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt  
completely, utterly lost.

It only lasted but a moment.

"Gods-DAMMIT," she hissed her agitation. She _refused_ to let the  
paralysis of this hopelessness overtake her – _refused_ to let fate  
play its sickly little jokes. If he was in there, then by the Lady  
Bright and Lord Dark, she was going to drag his ass out, and after  
commending him for heroics and a good heart, she was going to pummel  
him into the ground. Sidestepping another blue and then shouldering  
roughly through a pair of greens, Sulien knew that it was as it ever  
had been: she would go through fire, water, earth, heaven and hell if  
necessary, but the Reaper would not have him.

Not on her watch.

"WAIT – the house is collapsing –" Someone grabbed at her arm, and  
thoughtlessly, she swung. It was just a young green, and he looked  
stunned as the force of the backhand sent him hard onto his rump. He  
stared at her as if betrayed, and Sulien could not find it in herself  
to apologize.

"He is my BROTHER," she replied coldly, and made for the door –

And froze.

She had the sense of mind to scrub the tear roughly from her face as  
she sidled back into the crowd. She knew she would only be in the way  
if she stepped forward now, when the Healers needed to get in first,  
but that didn't stop her from hovering just outside the commotion,  
watching like a hawk should they mishandle him or jostle him into any  
further jeopardy. They didn't, though, and she squelched the tiny  
little bit of disappointment in her that she would have no excuse to  
thrash any of them into compliance.

She made to follow them once they had him securely on a cot and were  
taking him towards the House of Healing, but it seemed the gods had a  
better sense of humor, and the crowds parted and suddenly _he_ was in  
front of her.

Her eyes were still red and angry, and for half a second, something  
inside her twisted and so was she. She wanted to blame him. Wanted  
to say, if he hadn't stirred up trouble to begin with, they never  
would have been put on this path – she never would have had to  
separate from Vasilis. That maybe it had been his idea to run in in  
the first place…

But that was all stupid and illogical and most of all, ungrateful, and  
Sulien was none of these things.

It was a trick, to work the words around the tightness still choking  
at her throat. They came out hoarse, but she couldn't bring herself  
to feel embarrassed for it. "You saved his life," she said, and it  
wasn't a question, but a statement.

He stared at her blankly as she stalked towards him – almost flinched  
away as she grasped his forearm, though she didn't let him. Her grip  
was not bruising nor punishing in any way, but rather firm and strong  
and resilient, like she was. She looked into his eyes, deathly  
serious, and after a few moments, he seemed to recognize the gesture  
and grasped her own forearm in return.

"Lady Bright and Lord Dark as my witness, I, Sulien Connor,  
forever-sister of Vasilis Shanley, will repay you in kind." She  
squeezed earnestly, and did not flinch away from his gaze or her own  
solemn promise. She meant it as much as she had meant anything in her  
life.

-Guard Sulien Connor-

_**Continued in "Recovery & Repercussions"**_


	6. Recovery and Repercussions

The next several chapters in this story are a collaborative effort with several other writers from the Valdemar's Intrigue group. For continuity, I'm including their work here in chronological order, with appropriate credits and linkies. :oD Also included are the post numbers, in case your curiosity gets the better of you and you decide to wander over to our group for further reading...

Oh! Almost forgot the disclaimer: Valdemar and all related concepts are property of Mercedes Lackey, not me. I make no profit from the imaginings scribbled below.

**Recovery & Repercussions - 9007**

He returns her firm grip equally, his own gaze just as solemn. He nods gravely, once, and then lets go of her arm.

"Aye, ser," His gravelly voice is ragged with emotion, as he uses the honorific he prefers to designate women who've moved irrevocably to "shield" status in his mind's eye. "But th' debt is truly 'twixt Vasilis 'n me... If'n he hadn't done what 'e did, me filly – ahem – Aidanna'd 've been crushed, prob'ly kilt ... " He can't disguise the anguish in his voice, his face, at that thought. He scrubs at his stubbly hair, winces as the coarse stuff chafes the burns on his hands, frustrated with his own uncharacteristic lack of control over his emotions.

"If'n it's alright by ye, ser, might'n I head t' Healers, t' wait fer ... t'make sure they both be alright ..." He clears his throat of the knot that keeps trying to choke him, blinks his eyes to clear them of the ash – "Gods-blasted sparks!" – looks everywhere but at Sulien as the silence stretches between them.

"I'll turn m'self in t'gaol t'morrow, fer th' ruckus I stirred up... erm... " He has the grace to blush ashamedly, all the while cursing himself for reverting to boyhood vulnerability. Where was the tough iron-skinned, stone-hearted merc who'd carved his way through countless opponents on the killing fields in more wars than he cared to remember? He heaves a great sigh, finally meets Sulien's gaze again.

"Right. If'n I'm headed in t'night, will ye 't least watch over 'em fer me?"

**Re: Recover & Repercussions – 9008**

**Melitza ( www . fanfiction u/731072/ )**

His lack of composure was not lost on her, just as hers was unlikely  
lost on him. Realizing that they were two chips from the same stone,  
and revealing their mushy insides to each other just the same, she  
sighed and averted her gaze, idly watching as the hodgepodge of  
greens, blues, and civilians rushed to and fro with buckets of  
splashing water. The fire was mostly snuffed by now, but rebellious  
flickers still were seen here and there.

"He saved yer girl, and ye saved my boy." Different context's of  
word, obviously. The `filly' (a name she vaguely recognized) was  
probably his woman, whereas Vasilis was her dear, dear brother.  
Though their relationships were different, it didn't make one or the  
other any less important.

Remembering what had brought this entire thing about, Sulien huffed a  
quick noise of dissent. There was no lack for sore hearts in the  
city, were there?

The other man's somber, broken way suddenly confounded their awkward  
silence, and Sulien couldn't bear it. With a half smile, she tried  
needling at him. "Ye gods – ye taste like brandy, and ye ain't even  
got a whit'a'technique `bout ye neither." She was referring to his  
sloppy kiss earlier, clearly, but the indignation had long since  
faded. Now, there was only a faint flicker of amusement shrouded in a  
deeper rooted tiredness in her calm brown eyes. "No wonder yer off  
drinkin' on sorrows `bout the lassies, boyo."

He made a scoffing noise and might have retorted (it probably would  
have been good, too), but Sulien intercepted him with a rough shove on  
the shoulder. "Gaol? Ferget it. A night at'n the Green's  
beck'n'call is a fate worse'n still."

When he hesitated, eyes still carefully blank (though threatening a  
certain kind of hope), it occurred to her that he was still, after all  
this, a little bit inebriated. Sulien didn't know whether to laugh or  
shout, so she settled somewhere between and made a kicking motion at him.

"Git! Outta my sight, vagrant, a'fore I decide t' pick up where I  
left off earlier!" She followed up the words with a far tamer shooing  
motion towards the greens, now shuffling away with Aidanna and Vasilis  
in tow. The meaning was clear, even if the words were not. `Go with  
them.'

She felt a tug at her heart, and wanted to follow, but knew she had a  
candlemark yet before she would be off duty. Mayhap Rabbit or one of  
the others would have heard what had happened by now and would come to  
spell her; mayhap not. Either way, the streets of Haven would not  
sympathize and let off to give her time to grieve her own little  
almost-tragedy, even for one little night, and so, with a resigned  
sigh, Sulien stuffed her hands into her pockets and turned back  
towards the city.

"Duty calls," she muttered to no one in particular, and the words had  
never made her feel so damn tired before.

-Guard Sulien Connor-

**DraconicCat - 9013**

Healers were diabolically evil, with a penchant for torture. Especially Valdemaran Healers, Kregan knew, because their preferred victims were the very people they were supposed to be healing. Weren't they supposed to give you some sort of pain killer or soporific before they started tormenting you, at least?

He paced back and forth, back and forth, outside the room Vasilis had been taken to, stopping every time his friend cried out, gritting his teeth in sympathy. Vasilis had roused shortly after arriving at Healers', and his curses and cries as they tended to his wounds had most likely roused the entire complex. After a particularly virulent stream of curses (when had Vasilis learned Velvarian?!) involving the attending Healer's parentage, familial line, sheep, and fire pokers, Kregan gave a rueful chuckle, knowing if the ex-Maizen had the presence of mind to curse that creatively, he would pull through just fine. He turned his attention back to the other room he had been barred from, the room that was ominously silent.

At Sulien's leave, Kregan had hurried after the group of Healers carting off to Healer's Hall with Aidanna and Vasilis, had watched helplessly as they were bundled off to separate rooms, and then spent the last candlemark pacing between the two rooms, barred from both by irate and harried Healers.

A small bevy of exotically robed people (mages, presumably) had arrived shortly after and hurried into the room his filly was in, and nary a sound had come from there since. That door was locked from the other side – he'd checked, unable to stand the silence at this end of the hallway after a short while, and while he was fairly sure he could break the door down, he doubted the sagacity of such an action. Especially since now, it appeared, that door was guarded as well as barred.

By a gryphon! He blinked in surprise, trying to figure out when the creature had come in, and how it had managed to move quietly enough that he hadn't made note of it. A huge, tawny-dappled beast with geometric sigils in brilliant colors painted on its feathers, it sat sagely in front of the door, alternately staring at him unblinkingly with an indecipherable expression on its hawk-face and preening its wings. There was another outburst from Vasilis' room, faintly heard this far down the hall, and the beast gaped its fearsome hooked beak and flicked its ear tufts, creating a light tinkling sound as several brightly beaded trinkets dangling from the tufts jingled together. Kregan had the distinct impression that the creature was laughing silently.

Kregan grinned back at it slightly, but his eyes flicked back to the door. He'd never met a gryphon before, though he had seen them flying above Haven many times, and had heard they were as intelligent as humans. Magnificent beasts, but nothing he'd ever had to concern himself with before now. Aidanna had mentioned in passing once or twice that she knew a gryphon (perhaps the very creature in front of him now?), but she'd grown close-mouthed and angry when he'd asked for more details. Since he wasn't too keen on discussing most of his own past, he'd let it be. Now, he wished he'd been more persistent. At least he might then know if the beast had a name!

He had just settled himself on a nearby bench to wait it out (having decided trying to get past the horse-sized gryphon with its natural armament of beak and cruelly sharp talons was more than foolish without arms and armor of his own) when the door creaked softly open. A tall woman with long, silver-streaked black hair and piercing blue eyes set in a coldly beautiful face, clad in blue and shimmering silver robes, stepped out, and spoke softly to the gryphon in a language Kregan hadn't heard before, though it sounded vaguely like Shin'a'in, of which he knew just a bare smattering. The gryphon stood, flicking its leonine tail, nodded once to the woman, replied in the same language (so they _could_ speak!) in a softly trilling voice, and then entered the room. The woman closed the door softly, and turned to glare at Kregan, anger and distaste wrinkling the fine lines of her face into something less than beautiful.

She stalked the few steps toward him from the door, and before he could blurt out something less than flattering and most likely extremely insulting to her, she struck him across the face with an open hand with such force, his head snapped to the side and stars swam in his vision for a few moments. *What the expletive!?* He was more than certain she'd backed up her strike with magic, and as he shook the stars from his vision, saw her hand arcing toward his stinging face again. With a growl, he surged to his feet, catching her descending arm in his own steely grip (wincing inwardly as the burns on his lightly bandaged hands screamed in protest) and wrenched it to the side, hard, ignoring her gasp of pain as he squeezed her arm.

"One strike, skirt, I prolly deserved it, e'en tho' I doan' recognize ye from th' brothels," He sneered, their faces mere inches apart. He could imagine Vasilis slapping a hand to his forehead in exasperation at the merc's less than brilliant choices of antagonists for the evening – first a guard, now a mage - for that was most certainly what this woman was. How else to explain the sudden growth of hoar-frost on his gripping hand, the fierce, icy sting in his fingers, creeping down his wrist and forearm.

Her sneer more than matched his, and was haughtier, to boot, dripping with disdain. "Unhand me, you stinking heathen pig, or I'll freeze the marrow in your bones!" Her words were spoken in dulcet tones, but their menace was quite plain, and as the freezing pain crept down to his elbow, he didn't doubt the veracity of her threat in the least. Expletive! witches! With another growl, he released her with a shove, taking a bit of solace when she stumbled away from him before catching herself against the far wall as he shook his frost-nipped appendage, trying to regain some feeling other than the painful cold. The frost began to melt almost immediately, leaving the bandage on that hand uncomfortably cold and wet.

The mage had pulled herself up, standing imperiously straight and tall, and he would swear later that the air fairly crackled around her.

"I ain't got a quarrel wit' ye, skirt, not yet, but ye keep pushin', an' I'll be more'n happy t'oblige ye." He struggled to reign in his temper, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached. "Now I don't know what yer beef wit' me is, but right now it'll have t'wait! Me only concern fer th' time bein' is how me filly is doin'!" He pointed angrily at the closed door, straining to keep his voice down. "Ye been doin' whate'er it is ye witches do t'her fer th'last candlemark! Is she gonna be alright?"

The mage snorted in disgust as she continued to look down her aquiline nose at him, her blue eyes filled with a cold fury.

"Alright?! Alright?! No, she's not alright, and it's your doing, you fool! Eight years! Eight years of blood, sweat, and tears, most of it hers, all for naught!" The woman stalked toward him again, and he was so taken aback by the intensity of her fury, he actually stepped backward until the bench behind him bit him in the knees, and his legs nearly buckled beneath him. She was shaking her finger at him, mere inches from his nose, and he could feel tendrils of her hair and folds of her robes brushing against him, could feel the unnatural energy crackling in the scant space between them, crawling with pins and needles over his skin.

"She almost had her control perfected, her Gift mastered! She was well on her way to regaining her life! And then _you_ came along, you and your uncouth manners, your drinking – " and here, she wrinkled her nose even more, and backed away a step – "your complete lack of self-control, of discipline! I _knew_ it was only a matter of time before you had an ill effect on her, and now look what has happened! What you've caused! Her control is shattered! She's been beaten within an inch of her life, is involved in goddess only knows what kind of ill business! She was drunk! Drunk and drugged, and now may even stand to be accused of arson! Arson and murder!" The last word echoed down the hall, sharp and ominous.

The mage took one more step back, visibly trying to reign in her own control. She took a deep breath, held her head high. "She's not alright, and she won't even begin to be _alright_ for a very long time. Especially not with you around. I want you gone, do you understand? Gone from her life! She has been my ward for nearly ten years, and though she may be an adult now, she is still under aegis of my household, and I will not permit you to damage her further!" She glared at him, her eyes bright with the fury of a lioness protecting her cubs, and Kregan dropped his gaze as shame flooded him.

Shame and guilt. They came crashing down on him like a rock-slide, and he nearly staggered again, the crushing emotions swirling in his head along with the mage's words, a cacophony of disgrace. She was right, she was right, it was his doing, he knew it was all his fault; he drank too much, he had a terrible temper, he'd not scrupled at all to introduce his filly to all manner of shady characters. And then, when she'd needed him most, when her control had obviously begun to slip, he'd pushed her away, knocked the support she so desperately needed right out from under her... With a choking noise, Kregan turned, and slowly made his lumbering way out of Healers', back out into the frigid night.

He didn't see the mage smile at his receding back, like a cat with cream, all pretense at protective fury gone. _She_ had no doubts whatsoever about her own control. With another breath, she released the tail of the spell she'd cast, watching it trail its way behind the idiot mercenary – visible only to those with mage-sight, and then only if they knew what to look for – and then turned back to the room that currently housed her ward. She smoothed her expression into one of carefully distant concern, and re-entered the room, closing it softly behind her.

**DraconicCat - 9023**

Therese's heart smoldered as furiously as the crumbling ruins of her home, though she hid it well under a schooled façade, feigning more weakness than she truly felt as Healers swarmed over her and the others, bundling them off to Healer's Hall with practiced speed. She scanned the crowd of onlookers and helpers surreptitiously as she passed them, seeking dead Goran's accomplice, but failed to spot him. She did note to herself, however, several bystanders that might bear further questioning later, away from nosey guards, of course.

While she was grateful Aidanna's chaotic actions had saved her – for she had no doubt in her mind of what Goran intended her fate to be, regardless of whether she had cooperated with him fully or not – she couldn't help but feel at least some resentment at the cost. True, her home could be rebuilt – or she could simply purchase another – her father's shrewd business practices (among other things) had insured that his only daughter's financial future was more than secure. Replacing the material items lost in the fire would really only require her to visit her factor on the morrow and beginning the tedious paperwork. No, most of the material possessions would be easily enough replaced. All but one ... the book...

Ah, yes, the book... A compilation of her father's notes – and more recently – her own, spanning decades of information gathering, filled to bursting with all manner of savory tidbits on many of the nobles of the Valdemaran court. It was a veritable almanac on the dark and very dirty underbelly of Valdemaran politics, and it was priceless.

Why Goran would have wanted it was beyond her. He hadn't the skill or the imagination to make use of it – assuming, of course, that he could even decipher it in the first place, having been written in a cipher of her father's own design. She supposed, if, against all odds, Goran was secretly a mathematical genius, he might have had a chance at cracking it, but she highly doubted it. No, it was Goran's master she was worried about. Someone had to have told him about the book, and there were precious few who knew about it, and fewer of those who would have sent a lackey to claim it. The question was, who had Goran been beholden to, and how had they known about the book?

She allowed the Healer that was tending her to administer a tonic once he had finished healing, not having to feign the grimace at the horrid taste. She breathed a sigh of relief as she felt its numbing properties take effect, reducing the throbbing pain in her face. With a modicum of relief gained, she answered the attending guard's questions about what had happened as vaguely as possible, with plenty of sniffles, tears, and trembling thrown in for good effect. ~ No, she didn't know who her assailant was, or even how he'd managed to get into the house; perhaps he was a burglar? Everyone knew she and her father were well-to-do, and that they had never previously had a man-at-arms in their employ, only simple house-servants. No, her father wasn't at home, he was away visiting a client at a country estate and wasn't due back for at least another fortnight. Perhaps a rider could be sent to call him home? ~ And here she allowed herself to fully break down into tears, laughing silently to herself as the Healer grew irate with the guard and chased him out, then returned to soothe her with a fatherly pat on the shoulder. She quieted, and he urged her to rest, telling her an apprentice would be nearby should she need anything at all before taking his leave and closing the door softly. Thankful though she was for his gentle touch, she was especially wary now, and so she moved the single chair to stand in front of the closed door to afford a minor obstacle to any possible intruder.

She paced for a bit after that, trying to puzzle it all out, until a mild wave of dizziness encouraged her to lie down. Her head ached still, and she knew she was going to bear a terrible rainbow of bruises on the morrow, despite the Healer's ministrations. Well, enough worrying about what she couldn't change, she decided. The morrow was coming soon enough, and she could begin unraveling this new mystery. She drifted off to sleep, a tiny smile of anticipation on her shapely lips.

**DraconicCat - 9051**

She rises to the waking world in fractured pieces of her self, senses jumbled. Pain, first. Pain fills her entire being, piercing her to her very core, all-encompassing. Slowly, it fades to individual aches that her mind can identify, probe like a sore tooth, and set aside. Her skin feels tight and hot, sun-touched and tender; her old scars aching and stiff. Her throat aches, dull and throbbing, and her face feels swollen and sore.

Sound and taste come next. The rasp of breath in her ravaged throat, the rustle of the cool linen sheets that cover her, the soft whisper of muted voices, all a muted susurrus that fades in and out in time to her heart beat. She licks her parched lips, tasting blood and ash, and a pungent aftertaste of something herbal. She takes a deep, careful breath.

The scent of sterile linens fills her nostrils, accompanied by the aroma of dozens of herbs and medicinals. Underlying it all, the scent of her own sweat, and ash. The stink of ash and hot metal clings to her.

She opens her eyes, slowly, and blinks confusedly at the stone ceiling high above her as she tries to sort out all the sensations, not sure, for a moment, why she hurts so much, or even where she is.

She licks her lips again, winces at the sting of a split lip, and tries to clear her throat.

A shadow moves off to the side, and she flinches, groans at the stabbing ache in her temples.

"Wha- ?"

A young woman approaches, clad in the soft green robes of a Healer-apprentice, bearing a wooden cup.

Healers...? She blinks again, slowly.

Memory rolls over her like a landslide of images and sensations... her almost-fight with Kregan and his rejection – her retreat to Therese's home – the drink – the man with cruel eyes – his attack – her panicked and lethally fiery retaliation... The stench of burning flesh fills her nostrils, and with a choking cry, she just barely manages to roll over to the side of the sick-bed to vomit on the floor.

Eyes watering, nose running, she whimpers, shudders - *Oh, gods, she's _killed_ a man! Burned him alive!* - vomits again, violently. Memories of past and present mix and twine behind her tightly closed eyes – of her gift breaking free for the first time as a child, consuming everything she cared about in the world in hungry flames – the stench of burning flesh, the _feel_ of it under her hands – she sobs, wretches again, tastes bile. She can't see through the tears, can't breath through the dry heaves that wrack her body, can't erase the memories – the monstrosity of what she's done – no matter how hard her body tries to purge itself.

A cool hand on her forehead, brushing her hair out of the way. A damp cloth wiping away the sick, a soft voice whispering in Kale'da'in, soothing and calm. The dry heaves stop eventually, and she lays shivering and huddled against her caretaker, tears seeping out from behind tight-shut eyes.

The tears stop after a time, their reservoir dried up, empty. She allows herself to simply lie there, empty now, and motionless, except for the rise and fall of her breath and the heavy throbbing in her head. The person she leans against moves slightly, and then a sharp liquid herbal scent hits her nose. She blinks her eyes open, and a well-shaped hand holding a wooden cup half-full of some unnamed liquid practically under her nose comes into focus.

"Here, drink this, it will help with the headache and nausea." The voice is familiar, but she can't place it. Her mind is fast slipping into an old and familiar numbness, withdrawing from the world around her, a distancing, a numbing, that she hasn't felt in years, not since Memnar. It's almost a relief to feel the world fading out and the numbness rolling in from the edges.

"Oh, no, you don't, little one!" Her helper gives her a little shake, forces her to sit up using a steely grip at the nape of her neck, pours the herbal drink down her throat before she can object. She swallows reflexively, coughs and struggles to get away, her mind swimming back up to reality, anger hot on its heels. She whirls – or tries to, hampered by the sheets and her own uncooperative limbs – flounders in the bed a moment or two, still coughing.

"What - ?! You!" Her voice is ragged, raspy. She stares in disbelief, and swiftly growing ire, at the figure seated on the bed near her - IceHeart. Her lip curls in disgust – and only partly from the horrid aftertaste of the herbal drink. "What are _you_ doing here?" She stops struggling, instead huddling defiantly at the opposite end of the bed, glaring hot daggers over her sheet-covered knees.

IceHeart gives her a small, tired smile, looks down at the empty cup in her hands, turning it around and around restlessly. Finally sets the cup on the nearby nightstand, looks back up at Aidanna, meeting her eyes. Aidanna blinks in surprise, seeing IceHeart's face bearing an expression other than cold disdain or sneering arrogance. Instead, she looks tired, half-moon shadows under her eyes, and worried.

"I'm here to help you, Aidanna." She reaches a hand out to brush some of Aidanna's ever-wayward hair from her face, but moves too quickly. Aidanna starts, flinches, huddles further from the other woman's touch until the hand is withdrawn, regretful. "I'm sorry, I ... should know better, you don't like to be touched." The mage smoothes a portion of the sheets on the bed, picks at a piece of lint. Her eyes look away, look into some past distance for a moment, before returning to pin Aidanna in place. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, child, know that. I was never there for you when you needed me to be, as Serende charged all of us to be when he first agreed to take you in. But I am here now."

She stares at the older woman in disbelief, wary, confused. IceHeart has _never_ been sorry for anything she's done, ever. This new IceHeart, this open, honest, _caring_ IceHeart, is almost beyond belief. She doesn't know how to react to this new unknown, and so she simply stares.

"There is a Guard, waiting to question you about last night. When she is finished, the Healers want to examine you, and then will most likely allow you to leave."

Aidanna's heart thumps, hard, and she looks away, then ducks her head down, resting her forehead on her knees. She closes her eyes once again, willing the headache to go away.

"Kregan?" She asks, wincing at how timid her voice sounds. She hears IceHeart sigh, and grips her elbows around her knees so tightly her fingers begin to ache.

"I'm sorry, child, the Healers told me he left last night, and he hasn't been back since." IceHeart's voice is filled with regret, but it doesn't make her words any easier to bear.

IceHeart stands up, heads slowly to the door. Over her shoulder, in a voice not her own, a voice tentative, almost fragile. "Come home, Aidanna. We can ... I can keep you safe, in my home."

The door opens. "I'll wait out here for you, whatever choice you make." And the mage is gone, and the sound of heavy shod boots on the flood tells her the Guard has entered.

**Re: Questions And Answers – 9058**

**Melitza ( www . fanfiction u/731072/ )**

She wasn't surprised at all when Rabbit just suddenly showed up out of  
nowhere, all somber face and crossed arms, though even with his calm  
seriousness he still somehow maintained an overlying aura of  
twitchiness. "I'll take the rest of your shift. We're going on next  
anyway. Reslin was bothering me early anyway," he said quietly.  
Reslin - his `partner' for the shift - was a young girl – probably  
just barely into her full blues, judging by the way she was far too  
wide-eyed and hung on his every last word just a little too long.  
Normally, Sulien might have offered to stay with them for awhile  
(Rabbit was a little high strung himself sometimes; it might do them  
both a little good to have a stabling presence, at least for a little  
while), but today, she only heaved a sigh of relief and nodded.

"Thanks," she said, and the way she just turned and left without a  
backwards glance was probably the most telling about her state of  
mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion than anything else.

As tired as she was, she didn't even think of going to her bed.

"Sulien!" a young, blonde guard trotted out from where he had been  
hiding amongst a throng of greens. He had been set to watch the front  
doors at the House of Healing, and had she been on her A-game, that  
might have made her curious. As it were, Sulien only turned blankly  
to the younger man, blinking tiredly and wondering if her eyes were as  
dry and red as they felt. Maybe he mistook her fatique for annoyance,  
because the moment he came before her he snapped to attention,  
clicking the heels of his shined boots together and jabbing a hand far  
too ardently to his forehead. "Guard Sulien Connor – Guard Yan  
Temaris at your service!"

He hesitated, as if waiting for some response – but when she only  
fixed him with her nonplussed stare, he rushed to continue. "Guard  
Eowyn is waiting for you before she goes in. You're needed to  
question the woman about the fire and the circumstances –"

Ah, the woman. The owner of the house. The fire. Whoever started  
the fire.

All of these things were secondary. Without meaning to, and before  
she could think through properly, she had snapped, "Ye've had a  
candlemark `n' half again that – ye couldn'a found someone else?"

The young man's mouth snapped shut, and it occurred to her that he,  
too, was a little unfamiliar to her. Though, she thought she  
recognized him from the classes she had taught…

Ah. He was fresh into his blues as well. And suddenly, she knew, and  
almost blanched for her lack of tact. "There is no one else," he  
replied quietly, and she knew it was mostly true. A lot of kids with  
stars in their eyes had worked their way up through the ranks at this  
last graduation time, but they were all ridiculously green in their  
ardent youth, and would be mowed down like so much supple grass were  
they sent directly to the war.

And so, the Captain had robbed the ranks from Haven and other large  
towns of the seasoned vets – of the Guards who knew war, who knew  
fighting, who had come from it – and had left in their stead those too  
old and those too young to go to war, with only a sprinkling of  
seasoned ones left to try and finish polishing the kiddies.

A few seasoned ones like Rabbit, herself, and Vasilis.

Sulien rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. They felt like  
sandpaper, and her throat squeezed and hurt impossibly, and it all  
washed back again to remind her just how damn _tired_ she was. The  
young guard was quiet, as if waiting for her to say something that  
would make it all better.

"Where is Vasilis?" she asked instead, then paused, and corrected  
herserlf. "Guard Shanley. Where is he?"

The young man pointed, mute for only a moment before starting up  
again. "But the woman – and Guard Eowyn –"

"Are either of them dying?" Sulien interrupted, and she was glad it  
came out sounding for more pragmatic than snappish, like she felt.

He faltered. "Uhm – no –"

"Then let them wait," she replied. "Family comes first always, Yan.  
Donn'a ever ferget it."

When he hesitated still, she brushed past him and waved a hand in  
dismissal. "Iff'n t'is so pressin', send Eowyn t' do the legwork.  
Talk with the first attendin' Healers, 'n' anyone else lingerin'  
around who was first on the scene. Talk to the neighbors. Talk to  
the families. Hell, they always get the juicer versions of the story  
anyway, and Eowyn is a bright girl."

Those were as clear of marching orders as any he was going to get. It  
was all she could do not to slam the door to Vasilis's room shut  
behind her.

**Re: Questions And Answers - Vasilis – 9059**

**Melitza ( www . fanfiction u/731072/ )**

Vasilis cracked open an eye, and when the first thing he saw was the  
too-familiar sterile white walls of the House of Healing, he realized  
that he was not dead. For all that he had been certain he was in  
tartarous not long ago, when the Healer's had worked their "magic" on  
him, he was relatively certain he wasn't now – especially when he  
caught the sight of a familiar brunette sitting beside his bed, face  
drawn into a careful expression of neutrality.

"So I'm not in hell after all," he said, very, very carefully. His  
ribs hurt like hell, but he felt compelled to say something to lessen  
the serious expression on her face.

"Not _yet_," she replied darkly. "No matter how hard'n ye try t' get  
there."

Well, that answered that. Sulien hadn't exactly forgiven and  
forgotten – but then again, he hadn't really expected her to. "You  
would have done the same," he sighed, and for a long time she said  
nothing. It was true – they both knew it, so words weren't really  
necessary.

He closed his eyes again, and wondered how it was the Healers had ten  
billion herbal concoctions made from stuff from all around the world,  
and he had been made to take at least half of those combinations – how  
was it that he still felt like schite? He felt, rather than saw, the  
softening of Sulien's demeanor. When she rested her cool hand on his  
forehead, neither of them said a word about the unusual display of  
tenderness.

They were quiet for a while yet, and Vasilis thought, perhaps Sulien  
should have been a healer, because that hand on his forehead was  
certainly soothing…

Before he could nod back into a restful sleep, she shifted, and he  
could hear that she was leaning forward in her chair. "Ye good `nough  
to talk?" she asked.

"Hm." He thought about it honestly – assessed the feel of his aching  
ribs, his seared back, his all in all bruised and battered body.  
"Yeah. I've had worse," he concluded at length.

He felt, rather than saw, her firm nod. "Then ye best spill yer guts.  
All of it, beginnin' t' end. I'm in charge of this investigation  
now, so I'll be expectin' all the diligenct notes and details a  
full-blue-blooded Guard of Haven who was on duty and on site at the  
time should be given."

Vasilis groaned and gave up on that comforting thought of sleep, and  
was reminded yet again why Sulien wore Blues and not Greens. She was  
a cruel taskmaster, she was.

And he wouldn't have her any other way.

*****

**Re: Questions And Answers - Aidanna – 9060**

**Annika Herald Kethry**

Eowyn took her orders greatfully, for this was one of her first tasks  
as a full fledged guard member. It still felt odd whenever people  
called her Guard Eowyn.

She headed into the house of healing as that was where all the  
witnesses were resting. She thought over to herself who and what  
questions she should ask first. *I should probably go to Aidanna first*  
She nodded to herself and headed into Aidannas rooms.

The girl was surprisingly awake, next to a few healers. The poor thing  
looked absolutley sick and frightened. Eowyn cringed inwardly. *More  
has happend here than we know.*

She walked over to the girl and sat down at the chair the healers  
provided. "Hello Aidanna." She said in a confident yet soothing  
voice. "I am Guard Eowyn Firestorm. I was sent here to question you  
about what happend."

Eowyn pulled out her few papers that were handed to her by the Lord  
Marshal. It was Aidanna's record. Aparently she had already had a few  
run-ins with the Guard as a young teenager. She had never heard of  
the girl herself, but she was sure with what had gone on, quite a bit  
of the senior guard left in Haven would surely know more. She would  
have to speak to a few of them after the questioning.

"So you are a firestarter correct?" Eowyn asked. She tried to keep  
her biases to herself and ask as plainly as she could. She had  
learned from the best of the Guardsman that showing any type of a  
condescending manner could lead into a disaster when questioning  
witnesses.

"Can you tell me from your account, what happend in that house? What  
caused the fire?" She continued, and then fell silent as she watched  
Aidanna carefully.

**DraconicCat - 9062**

Aidanna stares at the Guard with trepidation making her heart beat harder, wincing inwardly as the blond woman pulls out a sheaf of papers and glances over them briefly. She has a horrible sinking feeling that this Guard, at least, already knows a lot more about her than she'd like her to. She _knew_ that last rowdy party with the girls from Derek's gaming house was a bad idea, that it would catch up with her eventually...

But this is much more serious than a party gotten out of hand... she has killed someone, and there are surely very serious consequences for such an act, no matter the circumstance. She had railed at IceHeart long enough about being an adult, being able to make her own choices, before moving out on her own. Now it was time to follow that up and be responsible for her choices, and the fallout from them. She takes a deep, shaky breath, coughs a little to clear her throat, and in a shaky monotone relates her story of the evening, staring fixedly at the bundle of papers in Guard Eowyn's hand.

"I, uh, I had an argument with my ... friend, " and she hurriedly blinks away tears before they can spill over, "and went to Therese's house, to talk. She's ... she's good at being there, for me, she's a good person, a good friend. We talked for a while, and had a couple drinks, and then I fell asleep... When I woke up, I ... I wasn't feeling well, and I went to find Therese, and ... "

She looks away, wrapping her arms around her legs tighter, and now she is heedless of the silent tears that stream down her face.

"... And there were two men, I don't know where they came from, and the one, he was screaming about some book, and he hit Therese, and then ... then he had a knife, and he kept asking and asking about who I worked for ... " Her voice is no longer a monotone, but choked and cracking with fear, and she starts rocking back and forth a little. "I didn't understand what he wanted, I was so scared, and he kept cutting me! So I stabbed him with my own dagger so I could get away, and he hit me, really hard, and then he was on top of me and choking me! I couldn't breath, I thought he was going to kill me, kill us both... "

Her voice drops to a horrified whisper as she describes her monstrous deed. "So I burned him. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry! He was choking me and choking me and I didn't know what else to do! So... so I burned him ..." and her eyes flicker dark violet for a moment, " ... and then I lost ... lost control of the fire, of myself ... " She scrubs at her tears, unable to look the Guard in the eye, tries to regain some semblance of self-control. It takes her a few moments before she can begin speaking again.

"There was a man, a Guard ... he tried to help me, but something fell on him ... did he... is he ... ?" She can't bring herself to actually say the words die or dead, terrified of having more blood on her hands. She simply stares at Guard Eowyn, finally meeting the woman's calm blue eyes with her own tormented violet ones.

**Re: Questions And Answers - Aidanna – 9067**

**Annika Herald Kethry**

Eowyn knelt down beside Aidanna as she went into a fit of momentary  
hysterics. "Calm down child, no one is blaming you." She sighed  
inwardly. There might be more to this situation than they all thought.

"And yes, there were two guardsman along with a newer healer who came  
ino the fire to save you both. All three are fine. Guard Kreegan, Guard  
Vasilis, and healer trainee Raven are all alright. They are recovering  
in the rooms next to you. Your friend Theresa is all right as well."

She paused a moment mulling over her next words. "Ok, now, I know this  
is hard for you, and something you may not want to remeber, but try for  
me. Do you remember at all what the man who attacked you looked like?  
Do you know him personally?"

**DraconicCat - 9098**

With the Guards' request to recount her assailants' descriptions, a choking wave of panic crashes over her, cloying and noxious. She shuts her eyes tightly as tremors quake through her body. Tiny purple flamelets sparkle hotly in the air around her, swirling in mad little eddies.

*What in all-hell is wrong with me?!* She clenches her fists, takes a deep ragged breath, and doggedly runs through a quick calming exercise, struggling to regain her shattered control. She gives a small sigh as the quaking and shaking in her body ceases, and she feels the flamelets winking out.

"I'm sorry, I'm not... not normally this jumpy..." She apologizes, but refuses to give up her death grip on the twisted edge of the blanket. She takes a few more moments to run herself through another old exercise, grounding and centering herself, allowing the mental imagery of towers and vast open starlit snowscapes to calm her. Her hands – and the rest of her body – slowly relax.

With a newfound stillness of mind, her "self" wrapped up protectively, her unpredictable Gift locked far far away, she opens her eyes once more and meets the Guard's gaze unflinching.

"They were both my age, maybe a bit older... well but plainly dressed, fit, with short cropped dark hair. The dead one – I think his name was Goran – had very dark eyes, brown or black. The other was a little bit thinner, with gray eyes. I don't know who he was, or what either of them were doing there. I'm sorry, I don't know what else I can tell you."

She sighs with relief when Guard Eowyn finishes her questioning and leaves, sinking back into the bed. A reaction headache pounds distantly behind her eyes, only slightly muted by the herbal concoction IceHeart forced her to drink earlier.

IceHeart... could she truly trust the woman? The mage had been her guardian as a child, but had never made any attempt to befriend her, had in fact gone out of her way to make sure Aidanna knew just how much of a burden – an inconvenient burden – she was. Their last argument – for their interactions in the last few years had become nothing but arguments – had been filled with harsh words and cruel barbs on both sides. Phrases like "ungrateful little brat" and "self-centered elitist" were the lightest exchanges, and they had both run through a fair streak of less favorable terms in several languages for each other shortly after. Aidanna had been glad to be quit of the older woman, and had thrown herself with carefree abandon into her "new" life with Kregan. This new, solicitous, almost kindly, IceHeart was more than a little ... strange.

She swallows back tears, pulls herself out of the bed, wobbles a bit. Starts a bit when the Healer - sitting so quietly in the corner through everything she forgot the woman was there – stands and assists her with cool, steady hands. Pokes and prods her gently, quickly, her Healing Gift leaving warm tingles in its wake, looks into her eyes, gives her a gentle smile.

"You'll live, child, though I daresay that headache is going to be a heavy reminder for you not to over-extend your Gift like that, or to channel quite that much energy back into yourself unprepared. Here, now, all done." She gives Aidanna a motherly pat on the shoulder. "Do you have a place to stay, youngling?" The Healer's gaze is shrewd and measuring.

Aidanna swallows, nods carefully to avoid stirring the headache any more than necessary, and with her heart in her throat gives the address to IceHeart's house. After everything that had happened in the past day, if Kregan wasn't going to stick around to see if she was alright, she wasn't about to give him another chance to reject her. She would deal with him tomorrow ...

_**Continued in New Class...**_


	7. Dirty Dog

The next several chapters in this story are a collaborative effort with several other writers from the Valdemar's Intrigue group. For continuity, I'm including their work here in chronological order, with appropriate credits and linkies. :oD Also included are the post numbers, in case your curiosity gets the better of you and you decide to wander over to our group for further reading...

Almost forgot the disclaimer: Valdemar and all related concepts are property of Mercedes Lackey, not me. I make no profit from the imaginings scribbled below.

**Dirty Dog – Kregan - 9099**

Light stabbed Kregan's eyes, painfully bright, lances stabbing into his aching skull, burning away the last vestiges of sleep. An annoyingly familiar, shrill, nasal voice tittered in his ear.

"Rise 'n shine, me lusty Bear!"

"Mmphhrrrgh" was his intelligent reply as he burrowed deeper into the blankets and pillows, shutting out the too-bright light.

"Oh, no, ye don't, Bear!" Ah, gods, that damned voice! It pierced his sleep and drink-fogged brain, even through the stifling protective layers of perfumed pillows. "Some 'f us have t' earn a livin'! Get up!"

The blankets slid off with a yank, leaving him exposed to the chill air of the room, and with a muffled expletive! he rolled over and sat up half-way, blinking blearily. The room was small, but lavishly decorated in opulent bawdy-house style, the primary feature being the over-large bed he was currently reclined on, all in vibrant reds, golds and blues, with black accents, fringes and lace positively dripping from every possible surface. Incongruously, a small stand with a set of well-worn but lovingly cared for leather armor stood in the far corner, draped with a tunic of the Valdemaran Guard, out of place in the heavily perfumed room. Expletive?

He blinked again, trying to piece his scattered memories back together into something comprehensible. Fragments, dark and shadowed, wreathed in flames and blood, swirled in his aching head, but disappeared in wisps of smoke as he grasped at them. Something ... important ... had happened, to someone close ... but he couldn't grasp it. There was a soft buzzing in the back of his head, making it hard to concentrate.

His wandering gaze picked out his clothing scattered about the room, and he became aware of his own nakedness at the same moment his eyes lit on the owner of the shrill voice, a lusciously voluptuous woman with finely honed muscles playing under bronzed skin, crowned with a cascade of gold-brown hair, and disgustingly bright and cheery brown eyes. She was clad in nothing but a tiny black silk robe, hanging open and off her shoulders, concealing none of her considerable charms, and she was grinning like a cat that ate the canary as she plaited her hair, watching him with one eyebrow raised. What the hell - ?! The nagging feeling grew, an irritating buzz in the back of his head.

"Muriel?" He croaked in surprise, then collapsed back on the bed, trying to rub the grit and sleep from his eyes, press away that annoying buzzing sound. "What 'r ye doin' here?" Muriel, a "shield" he'd worked with on several occasions in the past, and bedded nearly as often, she was a crack-shot with the crossbow, and nearly as deadly with the short-bow. She'd recently taken up a post with the Guard, though he'd never been able to figure out why. She was also a hell-cat, and bedding her was best entered into with the understanding that one would not walk away unscathed. He hadn't seen her in quite a while – he fumbled about in his mind, trying to remember why –

Muriel gasped in mock pain, and the padding of her bare feet across the well-carpeted floor was all the warning he had before her body bounced onto the bed and draped over him length-wise. He tensed in reaction, instinctively raising his knee nearest to her just a bit to provide some nominal protection from her potential wrath.

"Now, Bear, tha' truly does sting me pride! Cuts me t'the quick, it does!" She play-slapped him on the chest, and he grunted once, peering at her warily, almost fearfully through his huge paw-hands, wincing through that gods-awful noise in his head. Her hands played through his scruffy hair, trailing down his neck, around his shoulders, his chest, lower, raising heated goose flesh in their wake. Her full lips twisted in a pout, telling him more than her next whispered words. "I tol' ye I could make ye ferget tha' little strumpet –"

His eyes widened, the pupils dilating and then shrinking down to pinpricks. Memories clicked into place, almost painfully –

- Aidanna ... –

The fire – IceHeart at the Healers', driving him away from Aidanna's side – and then the inexplicable cascade of ghosts from his past, men and women dead at his hands on the fields of war or dead at his side, their voices and faces so vivid, so accusing ... he'd had to drown them out with bottle after bottle of alcohol, and still their voices had been a haunting chorus, and he'd thought he was going mad –

The buzzing noise in his head shrieked to a painful crescendo, and with a snarl he was on his feet next to the bed, Muriel's arms caught behind her, her legs pinned between his and the edge of the bed, effectively immobilizing her. She didn't struggle, though, instead tossing her half-braided hair over a shoulder, and grinning lasciviously up at him. Her robe slipped a bit more, and he gasped at the marks on her flesh, livid bruises on her upper arms, "love bites" on her shoulders. He let her go from hands gone suddenly numb, and she wriggled around and up, circling her arms around his waist.

"No worries, Bear, ye know me, ye do. I gave as good as I got." She raked her hands up his back, and he actually yelped with pain and leapt back from her, finally becoming aware of the network of scratches and – no doubt – equally vivid bruises on his own back, burning and aching quietly in the background of his mind. She laughed at his reaction, shook her head, then sat on the edge of the bed and continued to braid her hair. He stared at her, horror dawning across his craggy face as he realized, without any doubt, what he must have done after he'd finally blacked out. He started to pull on his own clothing, noting that they were different than what he'd been wearing – before – Confused, he looked up at Muriel.

"How bleedin' expletive! long I been here?"

Muriel had finished binding up her hair, and was slipping into her uniform, when she cast another sly look at him. "Long enough. Used up all me holiday." She chortled at his truly horrified expression and laced up her boots, steel-shod and polished to a brilliant shiny black.

"Was fun, Bear, but truly, I do need t'be gettin' on t'work now." She had finished pulling on her tunic, completing her transformation from sultry seductress to lethal soldier. She opened the door, revealing the hallway of a flat similar to his own beyond, brilliant sunlight streaming in from the open outer door at the far end, and gestured at him. He stared at her woefully for a moment, before lumbering past and exiting the building. He blinked in the daylight, allowing his eyes to adjust a moment, trying to decide what to do. With an exasperated sigh, he picked a direction at random and started walking, still trying to puzzle out the last several days, and more importantly, what he was going to do about it all.

Muriel closed and locked her door, pocketed the key, and kept pace with him for a bit down the street, humming an obnoxious off-key little tune while casting side-long glances at him. Finally, she gave her own exasperated sigh and stopped, pulling him to a stop next to her with a light hand on his arm.

"Bear, go home." She looked up at him, a serious expression on her face. She studied him, and despite the fact that he knew she was casual and light-hearted with her conquests, there was true concern in her eyes. "Go home, Bear," she repeated. "Sleep it off and sort it out tomorrow, eh?" She gave him a gentle – for her – shove, and a sly wink. "'Sides, ye know where t'find me, if'n ye need more forgettin'!" With her characteristic nasal laugh, she waved him off and headed off to her duty. He stared after her, sighed heavily, and began to trudge toward home.

**_Continued in Haunted_**


	8. Haunted

The next several chapters in this story are a collaborative effort with several other writers from the Valdemar's Intrigue group. For continuity, I'm including their work here in chronological order, with appropriate credits and linkies. :oD Also included are the post numbers, in case your curiosity gets the better of you and you decide to wander over to our group for further reading...

Oh! Almost forgot the disclaimer: Valdemar and all related concepts are property of Mercedes Lackey, not me. I make no profit from the imaginings scribbled below.

**Haunted - Kregan – 9169**

The words on the letter blurred and swam on the parchment, and at  
first he thought it was from simple bone deep exhaustion, or perhaps  
the drink had so befuddled his senses. Until he felt the wetness on  
his face, realized distantly they must be tears. He swiped at his  
face, stared dumbly at the wetness on his fingers. With an angry  
growl, he crumpled the letter and threw it away from him, as if he  
could throw away the hurtful intent of the words upon it.

-lowborn peasant, beneath my station-

-faithless curr-

-meant nothing to me-

-signed by my hand, Aidanna Shidao-

He didn't notice the telltale glow of spellcraft fade like a glimmer  
of stardust from the crumpled letter.

Never during his lengthy career as a merc, even the occasional time  
he'd had the poor fortune to sign on for the losing side in a  
conflict, had he ever felt such crushing, intense desolation. Never  
had a woman meant so much to him, that her rejection could hurt so  
deeply. Oh, he knew he deserved much of Aidanna's criticism in the  
letter, felt the tears burn away with shame at the scattered memories  
of what he'd done with Muriel, but that didn't lessen the hurt any.

Horrid buzzing filled his head again, and he rubbed at his temples  
with hands that still tingled as if they were holding the letter,  
hoping that _this_ time, the ghosts wouldn't follow the buzzing. His  
hopes were in vain, though, and as his ghosts swarmed around him,  
malcontent specters of his dead that leered and wailed, he wondered  
for the hundredth time if he had somehow been cursed, or if he was  
simply going mad. He hastily gulped down the last of his drink,  
knowing it was a futile gesture, that the alcohol would only mute  
their screams, not silence them. Nothing would silence them, would  
banish them from haunting him, not drinking, not whoring, not even his  
fevered time with Muriel... nothing...

He threw the empty jug against the wall. He couldn't silence them, but  
at least this way they could only whisper. He stumbled back out the  
door of his flat, oblivious to the sharp chill of the winter air, once  
more seeking oblivion, or absolution...

He was drowning, and there was no salvation in sight.

**_Continued in An Invitation_**


End file.
